Wild Embrace

by Cassie Edwards

  Yes. Sometimes destiny worked in strange ways, he mused.

  The dried buckskin warm against his flesh, Strong Heart glared down at Copper Hill Prison and thought, first things first.

  He had come to Seattle for a purpose.

  Chapter 5

  They spoke as chords do from the string,

  And blood burnt round my heart.

  —JOHN CLARE

  Dwarfed by the many monumental totem poles that stood on all sides of them, Earl and Morris entered the Suquamish village. Their horses moved in a slow lope between two long rows of Indians who stood with spears in their hands, apprehensively watching their arrival.

  Earl and Morris exchanged troubled glances, then looked guardedly at the Indians, most of them men dressed only in loincloths. The women and children seemed to have disappeared into thin air—the village seemed void even of dogs.

  And then suddenly, at the far end of the double row, a single man stepped out from the others and stood with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his jaw set, and his eyes narrowing as the horses bearing the white men came closer to him.

  Earl gave Morris a quick look. “I think we’d best dismount and go the rest of the way on foot,” he said, his voice a whisper. “I think we’re just about to make acquaintance with the chief. And what I see doesn’t make me feel too confident about our mission. I’d be surprised if we don’t end up as that damn Indian’s dinner. He looks like he’d as soon eat us as look at us.”

  “He’s not a bad sort,” Morris tried to reassure him. “From what I’ve heard about him, Chief Moon Elk’s one of the most congenial of the chiefs in the area. That’s why I suggested that we come to him first. He’ll listen to reason. You’ll see.”

  “I sure as hell hope so,” Earl said, wiping nervous perspiration from his brow. “And soon. I’m not as confident as you are about these transactions. This is my first experience with Indians. I’ll take the Chinese over Indians any day.”

  “The Chinese don’t fish for salmon,” Morris grumbled, “so keep your mind on who does. The Suquamish.”

  Earl nodded, then slipped easily from his saddle. He walked on wooden legs beside Morris until they reached the chief. Then he let Morris make the introductions.

  “Chief Moon Elk, my friend and I have come in friendship to have council with you over an important matter.” Morris said, his eyes steady on Chief Moon Elk. He extended his hand to the chief, then lowered it slowly to his side when the chief refused to shake it.

  Chief Moon Elk looked sternly from Morris to Earl, then back at Morris. Then he turned and nodded for them to follow him.

  Earl stayed close to Morris as several Suquamish braves fell in step beside them, their spears still clutched threateningly in their hands. His thoughts went to Elizabeth, hoping that she had obeyed him and hadn’t wandered alone from the house. At this moment he knew the true dangers. He could see such hate and mistrust in the eyes of these Indians. It was enough that he was having to deal with them. He wanted to make sure that his daughter had no dealings with them, ever. With her brilliant red hair, she would be a novelty for them.

  Earl and Morris were ushered inside a large, cedar longhouse, the interior lit by a crackling fire in a firepit in the center. They were offered seats on mats of woven grass. The chief sat down on a platform opposite them, keeping the fire between them.

  Earl swallowed his rising fear as several Suquamish braves positioned themselves behind him and Morris. Then his full attention was on the chief as a brave brought the man a robe of black sea otter fur, and placed it devotedly around his lean shoulders.

  Chief Moon Elk studied the white men suspiciously. He had had no close connection with white people for many moons now. Chief Moon Elk had broken away from those who had agreed to live on reservations and that had earned him much respect among the white community. They left his people in peace, to live their lives as they would have it—away from the rulings of the great leader that the white people called their “president.”

  “And what brings you to my village?” Chief Moon Elk asked. He pulled up his legs and squatted on his platform. “Do you bring tidings from your president?”

  Earl and Morris exchanged quick looks. Morris nudged Earl in the side, prompting him to speak now—to explain their plan to the chief while he was willing to listen.

  Earl cleared his throat nervously and crossed his legs, resting the palms of his hands on each knee. “We have come to talk business with you,” he said, his voice sounding foreign to himself with its frightened timbre.

  He could not help but be unnerved. The chief’s eyes were bright and steady in their gaze, seeming to see clear through Earl. He was afraid that the chief could even see his fear.

  “Business?” Chief Moon Elk asked, lifting a shaggy eyebrow. “What business could white men and Suquamish talk about? We mind our own business. It is best that you mind yours.”

  “I know that is the way it has been between the white men and the Suquamish for many years, but now it is time for change—a change which could be profitable for your people,” Earl said, his fingers now digging into his knees, his fear changing to determination. He had come for a purpose and he could not fail. Nothing, and no one could thwart his dreams. Especially not a dumb, savage Indian chief, he thought smugly to himself.

  But the look of defiance in the chief’s eyes was telling him that he may have come up against a brick wall—a wall that Earl would somehow have to tear down.

  “My people do not seek change.” Chief Moon Elk growled. “Especially changes suggested by white men. Our lives are filled with enough purpose, without any interference from white men!”

  “But what I have to offer could make your people have more purpose in life,” Earl softly argued. “At least listen to what I have to say. Think it over. Once you do, you will see that what I offer is good for your people.”

  “Nothing any white man has ever offered to the Suquamish has ever been good for them,” Chief Moon Elk answered. “Nah, look here! If that is why you have come to have council with Chief Moon Elk, the meeting is now over. Kla-how-ya, goodbye!”

  Not to be dismissed that easily, Earl rose to his feet. Morris scrambled to his feet beside him. “We will leave and soon, but I first will quickly tell you my plan,” Earl said in a rush of words. “Please allow it. What can it hurt just to listen?”

  “Kloshe, well enough.” Chief Moon Elk said, standing, also. He nodded. “Speak. Hy-ak, quickly. Then be gone with you.”

  Earl explained his plan—that the Indians would use their skills at catching the salmon for him, and he, in turn, would pay them a high price. He also told Chief Moon Elk that he would like to hire several of his braves to work in his fishery, and that he would pay them well for a day’s work.

  After Earl had given his presentation, there was a long pause before Chief Moon Elk offered any response.

  The chief moved around the fire and stood eye to eye with Earl. “Many moons ago my people labored for the white man, catching and selling salmon to them, but they were cheated. Now my people catch salmon only for themselves. My people rely on salmon for their main food. They share with no one!”

  “That was unfortunate that your people dealt with men who cheated them,” Earl said, becoming unnerved again by the chief’s steady, penetrating gaze, and by the presence of the braves as they moved closer behind him. “But that wouldn’t happen if they were under my employ. I cheat no one. I give you my word.”

  “A white man’s word is no better than that huge boulder that perches on the edge of the butte close to our village. It threatens to fall at any moment and crush my people beneath it,” Chief Moon Elk said, his voice tight. “No. I will not allow my people to participate in this white man’s venture. My people will continue to catch salmon, but only for themselves.”

  Earl was at a loss for words. He looked over at Morris for support, but the chief began speaking again.

  He turned his eyes to Chief Moon Elk, seeing his hopes
in his fishery venture fading. There weren’t that many Suquamish who had chosen to live away from the reservations. It was imperative that he convince this chief, for he was the most important and admired of those who chose to live a free existence.

  “Nah, look here,” Chief Moon Elk said, his voice taking on a softer tone. “The salmon to the Suquamish are what the buffalo once were to the plains Indians. If angered, the spirits that control the salmon will cause a failure of this autumn’s run. It would anger the spirits if white men joined with the Suquamish in the salmon run.”

  Earl tried to dissuade him. “I’m sure your spirits would understand that there is more than enough salmon for everyone. Your spirits will see that my plan will help the Indians, whose who work for me will have a steady income.”

  “I have spoken,” Chief Moon Elk said, lifting his chin proudly, and folding his arms across his chest. “My people will remain free like the mee-gee-see, eagle. The Suquamish people’s lives and religion are tied to the salmon, whose migrations mean sustenance. And the salmon’s autumn arrival is sacred. I will not take that away from my people—now or ever!”

  Morris nudged Earl in the side again, and nodded toward the door. “We’d best leave,” he whispered in Earl’s ear. “But don’t fret. I’ve my own plans. Chief Moon Elk will change his mind. You’ll see.”

  Earl gave Morris a harried look. He looked one last time at the chief then turned and walked from the longhouse, escorted by the braves. Disappointed, frustrated, and angry, he mounted his horse and gladly rode away from the village. Usually, he was able to convince anyone of anything. He was known as a wheeler and dealer.

  But he had never met anyone as stubborn and strong willed as Chief Moon Elk. He wasn’t quite sure now how to deal further with him, but he must. He would not give up hope this quickly. He had not become a rich man by allowing himself to be stopped by discouragement and doubts.

  “You sure are a quiet one,” Morris said, edging his horse closer to Earl’s as they rode beneath a massive umbrella of trees. “The chief’s got you tongue-tied, eh? Well, that won’t be for long. I’ve got a plan.”

  Earl glowered at Morris. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” he spat out. “I could’ve used a little support back there in that damn Indian’s longhouse. You just sat like a bump on a log, letting me do the pleading. Damn it, Morris, you’re my partner. Why didn’t you act like it back there when you saw me cornered? You’ve got a big mouth, usually. Did you lose your nerve, or what? Did the spears at your back make you yellow? Damn it, I don’t need no partner that don’t know how to think under pressure.”

  Morris’s face became red with anger. His cold, blue eyes flashed into Earl’s. He said in a low and controlled voice, “I’d watch my mouth if I were you. You wouldn’t want me to back out on my deal. Without me, it’s no deal at all. And just because the chief got the best of you, don’t give you the right to jump on my ass about things. Just let it lay, Earl, or you’ll have more than you bargained for.”

  Earl paled, not liking the implication behind Morris’s threat. Morris was absolutely necessary for his fishery.

  Yet, Earl was not sure if his choice had been a wise one. He had not been able to find out much about Morris before agreeing to a partnership with him. His credentials had been sketchy. Earl suspected that Morris had a dark side, but he did not want to find out what it was.

  “All right, so I mouthed off a bit too much,” Earl conceded. “Just forget that I did and tell me what you meant back there. How are you going to convince the chief to join up with us? What’s on your mind, Morris? Tell me about it.”

  “There’s no need in my going into detail about it,” Morris said, shrugging casually. “Just relax. Things have a way of working out.” He swung his horse away from Earl’s. “This is where I leave you, my friend, to find your way back to Seattle alone. I‘ve something to do—someone to see.”

  Morris rode away without further explanation. Earl headed in the direction of Seattle. His future seemed bleak. He had wanted the fishery for Elizabeth. Although, she did not know it, he was driven to succeed only because of her. She was all that was left in his life that was important to him. For her, he must succeed.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispered to himself. “I wonder what you’re doing right now?” He smiled. “Frannie is probably fussin’ over you, makin’ you beautiful.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth snapped the reins, goading the horse to hurry its pace. Her wet clothes were not only cold, but made her skin itch. She looked over at Maysie, whose shoulders were still weighted with her secret shame.

  “I’m sorry for acting as though I don’t trust you,” Maysie suddenly blurted. “There is no need, whatsoever, in you not knowing my last name—or why I am in Seattle.” The girl paused, then continued in a rush, “My name is Maysie Parker. I’m sixteen. My parents are poor. There was hardly ever enough food on the table for me and my five brothers and sisters. I came to Seattle after I read several leaflets that had been handed out in San Francisco—saying that the opportunity for young women in Seattle was great. I sneaked aboard a freighter and came here hoping to make my own way in the world. Hoping to make lots of money. Once here, I discovered that the leaflets had been distributed by brothel and saloon owners. The opportunities that lured me here were nothing more than having to live as a whore, to make enough money to exist from day to day.”

  The shock of this revelation showed on Elizabeth’s face. She remained speechless as Maysie went on telling her sad tale of a young life in trouble.

  “I grew tired of selling my body,” Maysie said, lowering her eyes. “But with no hopes of ever being able to do anything better with my life, I . . . I . . . decided to end it.”

  Maysie looked up quickly, and met Elizabeth’s pitying eyes. “This sort of thing happens to many innocent girls and women of Seattle,” she softly explained. “Some have ended up in Copper Hill Prison for killing the men who led them into a life of prostitution. I could not bear ever to think of... of... being in a prison. Once there, one rarely ever leaves alive.”

  “Well, you are one young lady who will never have to worry about that,” Elizabeth said, squaring her shoulders. “I will see to that.”

  Elizabeth was glad when, through a break in the trees, she caught sight of the old mansion. She had never thought that she would be glad to see it.

  But now was different. After hearing Maysie’s sad tale, Elizabeth knew just how lucky she was. Even though her mother had rejected her all those years ago, she at least had a father who kept her clothed and fed—and sometimes loved her.

  Not everyone was this fortunate.

  Her thoughts returned to the handsome brave, wondering what sort of life he led, and if there was someone who saw to his every wants and needs—a wife, perhaps?

  The thought of a woman being a part of the Indian’s life made a keen jealousy stab at her heart.

  Chapter 6

  A day of days!

  I let it come and go,

  As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.

  —CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

  The next day, her stomach warmed with oatmeal, Elizabeth took another slow sip of steaming tea, marveling over the brim of her cup at how Maysie still continued to eat. Maysie, her hair drawn back from her pale face with a blue satin ribbon, was scooping up big bites of egg, and stuffing her mouth with jellied biscuits as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  And last evening, when Elizabeth had offered Maysie a bath and perfumed soap, and then a fresh, clean dress with frilly laces at the throat and at the cuffs of the sleeves, Maysie had looked as if she thought she had entered Heaven.

  At that moment, Elizabeth had almost understood why Maysie had stooped to selling her body for money. Just as Maysie had said, she had found it the only way to survive in a world that had forgotten she existed.

  Elizabeth’s heart went out to Maysie, hoping that it was not too late for the young woman to begin a new life of decency.

  F
rannie entered the dining room in a flurry, huffing and puffing, a scarf with bright designs wrapped around her head. She was carrying a huge bowl of fruit, which she set down on the middle of the table.

  “Help yo’selves to the fruit,” Frannie said, stopping long enough to place her hands on her hips, to give Elizabeth an annoyed stare and then a slight nod toward Maysie.

  Elizabeth smiled weakly up at Frannie, realizing that Frannie did not altogether approve of her having brought home a total stranger to stay with them. Elizabeth had tried to explain Maysie’s plight, but couldn’t tell Frannie that Maysie had been living the life of a prostitute. Elizabeth had just told Frannie that Maysie was homeless.

  Elizabeth understood that it was not so much that she had brought home a stranger that Frannie was concerned about. It was Elizabeth’s father and his reaction to Elizabeth being so free in offering her charity.

  “I done been to the market this mornin’,” Frannie said, untying the scarf from around her head and laying it across the back of a chair. “This city boasts of its fine apples. I can see why. They are plump and they smell delicious.”

  “Thanks, Frannie, I believe I’ll have one,” Elizabeth said. She was glad when Frannie left after giving Maysie another troubled glance.

  Maysie wiped her mouth clean with a monogrammed napkin, washed down the last bites of her food with a large glass of milk, then leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I haven’t eaten that good since I left San Francisco,” she murmured, lowering her eyes timidly. “My mama, when she had the makings, she baked the most delicious biscuits. But . . . but . . . we never could afford jams and jellies to eat on them. Nor could we afford butter.”

  Then Maysie’s eyes looked up. “I can’t thank you enough for taking me in,” she said. “But what about your papa? When he comes back home, will he turn me out?” She glanced toward the door. “Your maid, she . . . she . . . doesn’t like me. Perhaps your father won’t either.”