by Ann Yost
At least, she thought, as sleep claimed her, she had a plan.
It was always good to have a plan.
When they arrived at the cottage she awoke to find herself, once again, in Cameron Outlaw’s arms. He carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the bed. Then he stood back, for a moment, gazing at her. She closed her eyes, willing him to leave. He seemed to understand.
“I’m going, Molly. Is there anything I can do for you first?”
She opened her eyes and glared at him, perversely wanting him to offer to stay. And then she heard the front door open.
“Molly?” It was her mother. Molly looked at Cam.
“You called Muriel?”
His lips twisted into a half smile.
“Better her than Grey Wolf.”
Or you. “Thanks.”
He feathered her cheek with his fingertips. “Feel better,” he said.
She closed her eyes, unable to watch him leave for the last time.
****
Another day like this one and they could just dig a hole and drop him in it.
He’d practically stroked out when he’d learned Daisy was kidnapped. He’d thought nothing could be worse than the fear that his child was in danger until he’d watched Molly’s Jeep turn a cartwheel. Jesus. The output of adrenalin had left him without any resources, physical or mental. If he stayed at the cottage he’d have forced her to agree to marriage and he knew it would have been a mistake. It was the wrong time and the wrong place and, besides, he needed to do some work on his sales technique.
He needed to do more before he’d be worthy of claiming this woman.
But it was damn hard to walk away. He’d stayed a minute to speak with her mother.
“Will you let me know if she—or you—needs anything?”
Muriel White Cloud’s black eyes seemed to study his face.
“My Molly,” she said, in a low voice, “she means something to you?”
He shook his head.
“She means everything to me. She always has.”
He realized it was true. He should never have married Elise. He’d never had anything to offer her. He was, and always would be, a one-woman man.
His cell phone rang as he turned off Route 15 on his way to Eden. The caller I.D. said Grey Wolf.
Cam stiffened. What the devil did he want? He punched the phone with his thumb.
“Is this about Molly?”
There was a low chuckle. “You’ve got it bad. No. It’s about Sharon.”
“Sharon Johnson?”
“I’m going to marry her.”
“You need my blessings?”
“I thought you should know.”
“Well now I do. Anything else?”
“Yeah, there is. What’re you gonna do about Molly?”
Cam’s first instinct was to tell Molly’s ex to go to hell but he stopped himself. Instead, he consciously thought about the past and what he owed the man. Grey Wolf had married a pregnant girl to protect her good name, a girl he, Cam, had abandoned. Okay, so he hadn’t known. He also hadn’t cared enough to find out. He owed the shaman the truth.
“I probably don’t deserve a second chance but I’m taking it.”
“You’re going to ask Molly to marry you?”
“It won’t be a question.” He paused. “But I may need a little help.”
Grey Wolf chuckled, softly. “Whatever I can do.”
****
Molly slept nearly around the clock.
By late the following afternoon she felt considerably better. She could hear someone working in the kitchen and she smelled Muriel’s chicken soup.
“Mother?”
An anxious round face appeared at the door.
“How are you feeling, nizwia?”
Molly moved her neck and arms, gingerly. And then her legs.
“I’m much better. I think I needed the rest.” She let out a sigh. “It takes a lot of energy to live a lie.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart.”
She shook her head. “I am so ashamed. I want you to know I’m glad I’m not pregnant.
“Really?”
“It would have been a bad way to start a new life.”
Muriel nodded. “Daniel called to check on you. He is going to marry the red-haired woman, you know.”
Molly smiled, happy for her friend. Daniel, it seemed, was able to cross the bridge into another culture, but then he’d had practice. He’d lived in Washington D.C. for years.
“He’ll be a good husband and father,” Molly said. “Over-protective, neurotic and loving.”
“I’ve made soup. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“And there’s fresh bread. Maybe you should shower first.”
“Mother! Are you telling me I smell?”
“You’ll feel better with clean hair.” Muriel grinned and the two women exchanged a look of relief. Finally, after what seemed like the longest, dark night, Molly was back to her old self. Or, at least, nearly.
The shower, meal and her mother’s warmth felt wonderful but when she’d finished, Molly decided to go for a walk in her woods. She intended to move forward now despite the emptiness in her heart. She needed to gather strength from the generations of women who had preceded her, from the nature that surrounded her. She needed time and solitude to regain her harmony so she could continue on her solo journey. She reached into her coat closet for an old gray windbreaker to slip on over her navy sweater and jeans but Muriel stopped her.
“I won’t go far,” she promised, assuming her mother was going to caution her about walking in the woods at night. “I just need a little fresh air. It’s the Moon of Ripening Berries. My favorite season, you know.”
“Please wear this.” She handed Molly a breathtakingly beautiful white jacket decorated with porcupine quills and beads.
“You made this?”
“For you,” Muriel said.
It was on the tip of Molly’s tongue to protest. The garment was clearly meant for a special occasion. But Muriel’s solemn expression dissuaded her and, in a way, it was a special night. The first night of freedom from the awful secrets she’d harbored in the past. The first night of the rest of her life. She repressed a pang of longing. She would face the future alone.
“Thank you, n’onon. This is the most beautiful piece I’ve ever seen. “
“Warm, too. And wear your boots.” Molly pulled on the tall moccasins Muriel had made the previous year. Half an hour later, as she watched the sun’s last rays slant horizontally through the trees and glance over the fallen leaves, she was glad of the warmth. The temperature had already dropped and it wasn’t even fully dark. It would drop again, shortly. After all, it was late October. The jacket and boots kept her warm, inside and out. She felt like a real Penobscot. She felt like a real daughter. She thought about the love she’d received from her adoptive parents. Perhaps one day she would find a child to adopt, too. The thought lifted her spirits.
At home in the woods, Molly wandered about, inhaling the fragrance of pines, the scent of the earth, and gathering the sense of peace around her. It was out here that she felt most strongly connected with generations of Miqmaq and Maliseet and Passamaquoddy and Penobscot. She accepted the forgiveness implicit in the night and she accepted the elements of herself including the pain. Tonight all the parts came together.
She was the child, Raven Wind.
She was the midwife, Molly Whitecloud.
She was the woman who’d loved and lost Eden’s golden boy.
She was Tiger Lily.
Chapter Sixteen
The sky had turned indigo by the time Molly’s ramble took her to the spinney by Blackbird Pond. The familiar scent of the woodlands and fresh air mixed with something unexpected. Molly sniffed the air. Tobacco.
Someone was here.
Someone who smoked a pipe.
Molly felt a flash of concern. The woods were dry at this time of year. A dropped pip
e, a lit match, any flicker of fire could destroy her beloved forest. She’d find the offender and give him a lecture. She turned down a small path that plunged into inky darkness. It would have been smart to bring a flashlight but Molly wasn’t worried. She knew the layout of the woods as well as she knew her own cottage. She inhaled deeply to locate the source of the pipe smoke then stopped in her tracks as a struck match revealed a human face.
Molly smiled. It was a familiar and beloved face, the face of one of her favorite people in the world.
“N’dadan,” she said. Father.
James Whitecloud’s eyes were black buttons in his wrinkled face. Between his strong teeth he held the flat, narrow end of a traditional peace pipe and in his gnarled fingers, the bowl.
Before Molly could ask why her father had come to the spinney to smoke, she heard a series of scraping sounds. Other matches flared and the scent of tobacco grew stronger. And then, as if directed by some unseen hand, the glowing pipe bowls moved into a configuration.
She was so busy trying to identify the individuals in the faint light it took her awhile to get the significance of the formed circle. Suddenly, she understood. It was a Medicine Wheel sometimes used for a native marriage ceremony.
Who was getting married?
A glimpse of another familiar and dear face on the circle brought understanding. Daniel. Molly didn’t even have to consult her feelings. She felt a wave of gratitude and happiness for her friend. He’d waited a long time for this. He deserved it. She smiled but there was a catch in her throat as her eyes became accustomed to the dark and she recognized Lynn Brown Bear, Nancy Dove, Maggie and other friends from the rez along with Hallie Outlaw and her husband Baz, Lucy Outlaw Langley and her husband, the sheriff, Sharon, of course, and a smiling Daniel.
Cam had not come. Her heart squeezed a little. She couldn’t blame him. The rez was the last place in the world he’d want to be.
And then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and he turned her toward him.
“Molly Whitecloud,” he said, in a deep, serious voice that turned her insides to oatmeal, “I have loved you nearly half my life. Will you marry me?”
She gazed into the chips of blue sky. Tonight she saw something in them she’d never seen before. Uncertainty.
“Marry me, too,” chirped a small voice. Molly tilted her head back surprised to see Daisy Outlaw perched on her father’s shoulders.
”Well, Tiger Lily?” Cam’s voice was soft. “What do you say?”
“Daddy, you silly,” Daisy said. “Molly’s not a tiger.”
Cam’s eyes, morning glory blue even here in the dark forest, glittered.
“She was a tiger when rescued you, Munchkin. And she was a tiger when she rescued me.”
Molly lifted her fingers and stroked them down the little girl’s cheek but her eyes never left Cam’s. She thought about living in Cam’s house in Eden, away from the rez. She’d always thought it would be impossible. But not now. She’d have moved to the moon if he’d asked her.
“We won’t leave the rez,” Cam assured her, reading her thoughts. “We can live in your cottage so you can continue your work.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask me, love. I want to do that. There are no emergencies at the bank. I can live wherever I want and I choose to live where you are.”
“Me, too,” Daisy chimed in.
Suddenly Molly thought of something. “Where’s Wilbur?”
“I couldn’t get him to wake up,” Daisy said. “But he sended you a kiss.” She leaned over and delivered it.
“Are you ready, nizwia?” It was James’s voice.
She was about to get married. She couldn’t get married in jeans! Then she remembered the beautiful jacket. Like any loving mother, Muriel had prepared her for this.
She smiled at Cam.
“I’m ready.”
Cam handed Daisy to Hallie and gripped Molly’s hand and James Whitecloud pressed ashes on each of their foreheads. Then Muriel handed Molly a cedar-lined basket that contained an ear of corn, which, as Molly knew very well, signified fertility. A moment later Muriel covered them with a hand-woven blanket. Molly heard a childish giggle. It was Daisy but Molly wondered, suddenly if the others, especially Cam, found the Native American ceremony silly.
Once again he read her mind and squeezed her fingers.
A tall, thin man detached himself from the Wheel and moved next to James.
“Elgin Cantwell,” Cam whispered. “He’s a justice of the peace from Bangor. I was so careless before. This time I’m covering all the bases.”
Soon the formalities were over and, with the blanket still symbolically separating them from the rest of the world, Cam pulled her into his arms. His kiss was full of forgiveness and promise and deep, abiding love. When it was over he murmured against her lips.
“Behanem.”
Tears pricked the backs of Molly’s eyes. He’d learned the Penobscot word for wife. Suddenly, she knew the wedding was a message. He wanted her to know how completely he accepted her heritage. How he embraced it.
“Sanoba,” she replied. Husband.
His smile warmed the corners of her heart. He bent to her lips again.
“Wajemi.”
Kiss me.
James began to chant the Apache Wedding Prayer and the words drifted over them like the first flakes of the Moon of Blinding Snow. A benediction.
“Now you will feel no rain, for you will be shelter to each other. You will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. There is no more loneliness, for you will be companion to the other.
“Now you are two bodies,” James continued, “but there is only one life before you. Soon you will go to your resting place, to enter into the days of your togetherness. May your days be good and long upon the Earth.”
Their days would be good, she thought as warmth and anticipation filled her lower body. And their nights would be even better.
Hours later, after a feast of traditional fry bread and vegetables, chicken and wedding cake, Cameron slipped his arm around the waist of his bride.
“I don’t know about you,” he whispered, “but I’m ready to go to our resting place to enter into our togetherness.”
She twined her arms around his neck and kissed a crumb on the corner of his mouth.
“Too bad the spa is closed. We could have gone back to the vanilla Honeymoon Suite.”
Cam grinned. “We can. The place is opened up just for us. We’ve got the whole damned building.”
He slipped his tongue between her lips and reduced her to a quivering mass of need.
“Alsoda,” he whispered.
She looked into his eyes.
“I don’t know that one.”
“Roughly translated it means, beloved-wife-whom-I-can’t-wait-to get-out-of-her-clothes.”
She held him against her with all her strength and all her love and she felt his heart thundering.
“Come on,” she said.
“In a second. You haven’t heard the full extent of my vocabulary yet. I have one more word that should come in handy in very soon.”
She grinned at him. “I didn’t think the People had a word for ‘sex.’”
Cam’s fingers tightened around her waist and she felt every inch of his masculine heat.
“Not that soon. Next year, in the Sowing Moon or maybe the Moon of Ripening Berries.”
Her heart was full of happiness as she anticipated the word.
“Deidis,” he whispered.
Baby.
Epilogue
Some nine months after the wedding, Cam settled himself in a chair at Eden Memorial and cradled his black-haired son while he gazed at his wife holding their tiny blue-eyed daughter.
“Looks like I’ll have to increase my vocabulary,” he said, his eyes brimming with love. “What’s the word for twins?”
A word about the author...
Ann Yost is a former newspaper reporter and
freelance humorist. The mother of three children, a daughter-in-law and a brand new son-in-law, she lives in Northern Virginia with her reporter husband, Pete, and Lucy, their golden retriever.
