Wild Embrace

by Cassie Edwards

  Morris looked nervously from cell to cell. He stopped a few times to stare at women who appealed to him with their tearful eyes, their hands reaching through the bars toward him.

  Then he went to one cell in particular, glaring at the man who stood close to the bars. He reached inside and grabbed him by the collar. “I’ve come for only one lady and by God, if you value your life, you’ll tell me who took her away,” he said angrily.

  The man made a strangling noise as Morris’s fingers twisted the collar. “It . . . was . . . dark,” the man said, gasping. “No one could see who took her. But . . . it . . . was a man. He carried her away. That’s . . . all any of us know.”

  Wondering who could have gotten there before him and his men, Morris mouthed an obscenity as he released the man.

  Several of the outlaws rushed into the back room, then stopped and gawked.

  Joe Feather went to Morris. “You’d best get her and let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice low. “It’s almost daylight. Someone’s bound to come and catch us here.”

  “She’s not here,” Morris grumbled, his brows meeting in a frown. “Goddamn it all to hell, she’s not here.”

  “Where is she?” Joe asked, tipping his hat back with his forefinger.

  “Who’s to say?” Morris said, shrugging. He stroked his chin, looking at the prisoners.

  “I’d say that’s good,” Joe said, patting his holstered pistol. “I didn’t take much to this escape, anyhow. What were we going to do with her once we got her? She’d just draw the law to us, that’s all.”

  “If we don’t do something about these prisoners, the law’ll get drawn to us now, no matter how you look at it,” Morris said, pushing aside Joe and storming back to the sheriff’s office. He gestured. “Come with me. We’ve things to do.”

  Joe Feather scampered after him. They joined those who were inside the office, their firearms drawn.

  “Let’s get a fire goin’,” Morris said, his eyes gleaming as he went to the desk and grabbed up several yellowed papers and began scattering them around the room. “Frank? You go start setting the prisoners free. Panama? You stand guard outside and see to it that no one sees what we’re doin’. If someone comes even near the prison, shoot ’em. We’ve got to make a clean sweep of this mess we’ve made today. And we don’t need no witnesses.”

  Frank went to Morris, his pockmarked face wary. “The prisoners?” he asked in a monotone. “Don’t you think they’ll be witnesses if any of them gets caught?”

  “As I see it the community is going to be too busy fighting the fire to worry about catchin’ escaped convicts. And these people aren’t going to stay in these parts any longer than they can help it. They’ve already got a taste of what it’s like to be here at Copper Hill Prison. They won’t allow it to happen again. I’m sure they’d kill themselves before coming back. Why would they tattle on those who’ve been kind enough to set them free?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Frank said, taking the keys Morris handed to him. He left, and soon there was a stampede from the back room as men and women ran from their cells, breathlessly free.

  “Clear out of here!” Morris shouted to his men. “I’m going to set everything on fire!”

  Soon flames were flickering from the barred windows and the panes of the front windows exploded, spewing glass everywhere.

  “Get back to our hideout, quick!” Morris shouted as he ran toward the forest for his horse. “I’ll meet you there later. I’ve things to do here in town.”

  By the time Morris was riding nonchalantly down First Avenue, the fire wagons were already clanging and rushing up the steep hill toward the prison. Black smoke billowed up into the sky, darkening the heavens as if it were midnight, instead of early morning.

  Morris rode onward, ignoring the clamor of people who were riding their horses toward the prison. He knew what they would eventually find—two bodies, not a hundred. And it would be hard for them to identify whether they were the sheriff and the deputy.

  No one would ever know how it had happened, or who had caused it.

  Or who had taken Elizabeth away? And why? Had they known about his plans? Or had it just been coincidence that someone had gotten there before him?

  In this life, there seemed to be nobody who could be trusted. No one!

  He rode on to Earl’s house and found him already at the fishery, getting an early start on the day. After securing his horse’s reins to the hitching rail, Morris went inside the fishery and stood over the desk, where Earl was entering some figures into a ledger.

  Earl looked up at Morris, his eyes eager. “Well?” he said quickly. “Did you find a way to free Elizabeth?”

  “I didn’t have to, it seems,” Morris said, trying to fake concern. “When I got up this morning, I saw the flames shooting up into the sky from the prison. Earl, the fire wagons could do no good. By the time they got to it, it was gone.”

  Earl’s knees weakened and his heart leapt into his throat. He started to rise from his chair, but he was too weak to stand. “Tell me,” he said, his voice rasping. “What—what about Elizabeth? Did-did someone get her out before the prison burned?”

  “Someone came and told me that everyone in the prison had been set free before the fire started, even Elizabeth,” Morris said, seeing the relief in Earl’s eyes. “As best they can tell, the sheriff and deputy perished in the fire.”

  “But Elizabeth?” Earl stammered. “What of my Elizabeth? Where is she? Who is she with? It’s like before. She’s been abducted! But by who?”

  “Better she’s been abducted, than dead,” Morris said, shrugging. “And one thing for sure, Earl, there is something positive about this happening. Your daughter’s name is now free and clear of any guilt. The sheriff and deputy are dead. They were the two who was responsible for her being there. And all of the records that could show her as having been there, and why, have been destroyed in the fire.”

  Earl nodded. Then he felt despair over losing his daughter again. He was beginning to think that he would never, ever, see her again, and felt that it was his punishment for having neglected her all of those years when he had been fortunate enough to have and love her.

  He silently vowed to himself that if he ever had the opportunity to be her father again, he would make everything up to her. He would show her what a father’s true devotion was all about.

  Chapter 24

  All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,

  Night long within my arms in love and sleep she lay.

  —ERNEST DOWSON

  Mount Rainier was rising through morning fog as Strong Heart’s village came into sight. Elizabeth clung to Strong Heart’s waist as his horse cantered slowly across the land, her gaze drawn to the activity of some Suquamish women on the sandy bank of the river.

  Using wooden sticks bound loosely with a twist of cedar bark, a young woman carefully extracted a hot rock from a bed of coals. With the sizzling rock securely clamped in the tongs, the woman ran a few steps across the beach to some women who were working around a big, square wooden box filled with steaming water.

  Quickly the girl dipped the hot rock in a small container of water to rinse off the ash from the fire, then dropped it into the box.

  “What are those women doing?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity aroused. She was glad to have something to say to break the silence that had fallen between her and Strong Heart the closer they had come to his village.

  It puzzled her how his mood had changed from being caring and loving the previous evening, to someone distant now, as if he was carrying the burden of the world on his shoulders.

  She had to believe it was because many duties awaited him helping his father prepare for the salmon run.

  Elizabeth prayed that his moody silence had nothing to do with her. Yet, she could not see any reason why it should. Nothing had changed between them that she was aware of.

  Strong Heart was silent for a moment longer, then heaved a sigh and answer
ed her. It seemed to her a half-hearted explanation, as though it was bothersome to him to answer. Again she was puzzled. Usually he was anxious to explain the ways of his people to her.

  Why would it be different now? she wondered, feeling unnerved by his attitude.

  “The women are boiling whale blubber to extract oil from it,” Strong Heart said, gazing over at the activity. “My braves must have found a whale washed up on the beach at the mouth of the river, where the river and sea join. You see, Elizabeth, my tribe does not hunt whales, but we have learned to take advantage of stray carcasses. This whale will provide our people with much blubber, which can be used in many ways. Our braves are always on the lookout for such a catch as this.”

  “And soon you will participate in the salmon run,” Elizabeth said. The thought of the salmon brought her father to her mind. Again she had given him cause to worry, perhaps enough to even forget about his fishery.

  But she doubted that anything could cause him to lose interest in his business. Not even her disappearance. His work was his life—not her. He would probably mourn her loss for a brief moment, then move ahead with his plans.

  And if he had loved her as a devoted father should, he would have found a way to get her out of that dreadful prison.

  As it was, only Strong Heart seemed to truly care enough, and now even he was acting strangely.

  She was disturbed by how he had called her by her name a moment ago, instead of his la-daila.

  Confusion flooded in, in greater intensity. She searched through the past few hours, to remember if she had said or done anything that might have angered him, yet was unable to find anything that was less than beautiful: The way he had held her. The way he had kissed her. The way he had made love to her.

  It was all too perfect for him to be behaving so oddly now.

  Strong Heart’s jaw tightened at her mention of the salmon run, for it brought him back to why he was in such a sullen mood today. He had decided to confront her about her father as soon as they got settled at his longhouse. He would question her as to why she had found the need to lie to him about her father, instead of being honest with him.

  Trust was needed in a relationship, and now it was evident that it was lacking between them.

  Ah-hah, he had laid his anger aside long enough to rescue her from the prison, and even through the night as he held her in his arms, for it had been such relief to know that she was safe. During those special moments with her, when he was thankful she was alive, he had forgotten why he should be angry.

  But now, it was different. He had to know the truth. For every time he held her in his arms, he did not want to think that he was holding someone who could be less than truthful with him.

  He expected that the woman who was soon to be his wife should have no reason to feel that she had to lie to him.

  He did not want to tell her that they could not be married— that she wasn’t worthy of a man who would one day be a powerful chief.

  Ah-hah, he would soon have this much needed talk with his woman.

  Anger flared in Elizabeth when Strong Heart ignored her mention of the salmon run.

  Well, she quickly decided, she had taken all that she could of his silent moodiness!

  “Let me off the horse,” she said, her eyes flashing into Strong Heart’s as he turned his head quickly to look at her. “It is apparent that my mere presence is a bother to you, so stop your horse so that I can walk the rest of the way.”

  She glared at him defiantly. “Better yet, perhaps I should just turn around and start walking back toward Seattle,” she stormed. “I don’t want to be anywhere I’m not wanted, or be with someone who treats me as though I am nonexistent.”

  Strong Heart stared at her, stunned by her sudden rush of temper. Then, remembering his own reason for being angry with her, he turned his eyes ahead. He kept his horse going in a steady lope, refusing to allow Elizabeth to do as she wanted. At this moment, he was determined to have his way. She would not get away from his questions that easily!

  He smiled to himself, though, thinking that perhaps she was even more beautiful angry—with her green eyes flashing, and her cheeks rosy with rage. It would be so easy to forget his suspicions and return to the way it had been between them before he had discovered that she had not been totally truthful with him. Instead of questioning her and finding out something that might cause a total estrangement between them, ignorance might be best.

  But he was a man of truth. So his wife must be a woman of truth.

  “Stop!” Elizabeth shouted, pummeling his back with her fists. “Let me down. If you don’t, I’ll jump.”

  Strong Heart wheeled his horse to a quick stop, then turned to Elizabeth and jerked her around, so that she was on his lap. He held her in place with his strong arm, and proceeded on toward his village.

  “Nah, look here,” he grumbled. “We are almost at my village, and then we will go to my longhouse and talk. But until then, sit quietly and do not make a spectacle of yourself.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Elizabeth asked, angry tears spilling from her eyes. “Last night, everything was so perfect between us. Today? You act as if you don’t love me. Why did you set me free from the prison if . . . if . . . you don’t even care for me anymore?”

  “I will care for you until the end of time,” Strong Heart said, his voice solemn as his eyes looked into hers. “But there is something left unspoken between us. Today, before the sun dies in the sky, I will have the answers that I am seeking.”

  “Answers?” Elizabeth said, sniffling and wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Answers about what? You seemed content enough last night. Why now, Strong Heart? Why?”

  “Last night was last night,” Strong Heart grumbled. “This is now. Now is when I want the answers. Perhaps I should have questioned you last night, but I didn’t. So be it, Elizabeth. Just be patient with me. I have been, with you.”

  Elizabeth shook her head slowly, her mind seething with frustration. “Sometimes you talk and act in riddles,” she murmured, turning her eyes from him. Her shoulders slumped dispiritedly. She knew she would feel better if she allowed herself to have a good cry.

  But she did not have time to think further on it, for Strong Heart’s horse had reached the outer fringes of the village and children were running toward them already, shouting Strong Heart’s name, their dogs yapping at their heels.

  Strong Heart smiled at them and kept riding on past the newly erected totem poles and into the village. Women sat outside their lodges, spinning the underside of the cedar bark which looked like flax, with distaffs and spindles. Others wove it with strips of sea otter skin on looms which were placed against the sides of their houses.

  When Strong Heart started riding past his parents’ large lodge, Elizabeth saw his mother step outside. A smile of relief was on her tiny face as she gazed adoringly up at her son, a fist clutched over her heart as she bid a silent welcome to Strong Heart. He returned the welcome, in kind, and rode on, drawing rein before his longhouse.

  Strong Heart eased Elizabeth from his lap until her feet were placed firmly on the ground, then slid from the saddle himself. Elizabeth stood with her arms folded stubbornly across her chest as he secured his reins to a post. She jerked away from him when he reached for her elbow to escort her into the house.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice low, yet angry. “I shall go into the longhouse without assistance.” She turned and stood on tiptoe, lifting her face to his. “And I shall not make a scene. I’m just as anxious to get this over with as you.”

  Then, her lips quivering, she reproached him. “I hope to understand soon why you are behaving so . . . so . . . cold to me. It wasn’t my fault that I was taken to the prison and jailed there.”

  She raised her eyes to his. “I didn’t ask you to come and get me either,” she said, her voice breaking. “You could have left me there just like my father. Why did you come for me, if all that you had planned was to
chastise me for . . . for . . . only God knows what? In truth, I am now no better than when I was in prison.”

  Strong Heart’s eyes wavered and a slow pain circled his heart to see his woman tortured by what he was forced to do.

  He gestured with his hand. “Go inside,” he said softly. He followed her, then he pointed toward a soft buckskin cushion filled with cottonwood floss. “Mit-lite, sit down beside the firepit.”

  Disconsolately, Elizabeth sat down on the cushion and crossed her legs beneath her skirt. She was suddenly mortified by the appearance of her dress. During their journey, she had not thought to be concerned about how disheveled she was after being imprisoned for so many days. Each evening she had been given a basin of water, with which she kept herself clean, but her clothes not only smelled of the jail cell, but now also of horse sweat.

  As Strong Heart sat down beside her, and began building the fire in the firepit, Elizabeth watched him, her heart pounding. She was glad when the flames were curling around the logs, so that Strong Heart could say what he wanted to say to her.

  When he turned her way and began talking, she turned pale and gasped. His question was proof of why he had been treating her as if she were no more important to him than a stranger.

  “Elizabeth, it is me-sah-chie, bad, to tell lies, especially to tell a lie to the man you have professed to love,” Strong Heart began solemnly, his gaze steady on her. “Why did you lie to me about why your father is in the Pacific Northwest?”

  “How do you know about that?” she murmured, nervously brushing a strand of hair back from her eyes.

  “Your father, along with another white man who is known by the name Morris Murdoch, came to my village just prior to the raid on my people,” he answered. “I was not here. I had left to free Four Winds from prison. But my father and the other braves have told me why your father and Morris Murdoch were here—to trick my people with their white man promises to catch the salmon for them instead of for our people. And they urged our people to work in the fishery that they have built on the beach close to the hallowed land of the Suquamish. Why did you not tell me that your father was building a fishery, and for what purpose? Why did you not tell me that your father planned to come to my village and speak in council about the salmon? Why, my la-daila? Why?”