Seneca Surrender (Berkley Sensation)

by Gen Bailey

  “Yes, of course. That accounts for your command of the English language, also, does it not? ”

  “I believe that it does.” He smiled, but it was brief, a half-smile at best.

  Shyly, she returned the gesture, then blushed and turned away. After a while, she said, “I can see that I have been a burden to you, and for that I apologize.”

  “You are no burden,” he assured her.

  “Am I not? I thank you for trying to ease my mind, yet if it be true that you saved me, I am certain you are not pleased with my many questions.”

  He shrugged. “Your questions are natural, since you have awakened to find yourself in the hands of a man you do not know. It is not a bad trait to be leery of a stranger. Trust is a thing earned, not given without cause.”

  “But perhaps there is cause.”

  “Maybe. You will have to determine that yourself. But if I can put your mind at ease, I will try.”

  “Do you know how far away we are from a white man’s town? ”

  “Many days’ ride by the white man’s horse, or longer by foot and canoe.”

  “Much too far for us to go.”

  “I fear it is true.”

  “Then if I recover, or when, I will owe it to you.”

  He shrugged.

  “And what is it that you would like from me in return?”

  “Perhaps the return of your memory.”

  “Is that all? ” Even she could hear the doubt in her voice. “There are some men who would ask for much more from a woman.”

  “Not a Seneca man,” he said, squaring back his shoulders.

  “Oh? ”

  “Only a beast,” he continued, “who is more decayed flesh than human being, would ask for more from a woman than she is willing to give. Furthermore, only a fool, tied to nothing but the physical, would take what Hawenio has brought to him and destroy it.” He paused. “I hope that I am neither kind of those men.”1;

  “Yes, I hope so, too,” she agreed. “Tell me, what does Hawenio mean? ”

  “The Creator,” he said. “He who made this world and who placed us here in it.”

  “Ah. That is a beautiful word.”

  He nodded. “So it is. Now, when you are able to sit up,” he went on, changing the subject, “and can do the deed for yourself, your clothes are dry, and you will be able to dress yourself. I have placed them in a stack by the fire.”

  She glanced toward the place where he indicated. “I . . . yes, I see them.”

  She started to return her gaze to him, but then as though her skin were highly sensitized, she became more than unusually aware of this man’s arms wrapped tightly around her. Suddenly, her skin felt heated by his touch, and she averted her gaze. To her shame, she realized that she liked the feel of his hands upon her.

  The recognition startled her because a fleeting memory reminded her that she didn’t like to be touched. Not usually. She hadn’t liked it since . . .

  It was on that note that the recollection ended, leaving her feeling more than a little frustrated. How on earth was she to ever remember who she was or where she was from if memories came and went with such speed?

  As though he, too, were aware of her disappointment, he said, “Let me help you to lie back. You should rest now, and you should seek to sleep often. Gradually, you will remember more and more periods of your life. Until then, do not worry.”

  “Yes, thank you. I will try to keep from worrying. But it is hard to hold back my discouragement. What if no recollections ever return?”

  “They will.”

  She sighed. “Oh, if only I had your certainty. Before I lie down to rest, I would like to ask if you might be so kind as to bring my clothes close to me so that I might dress myself as soon as I am able. Though you have been the utmost in gentlemanlike conduct, I am nervous about my state of undress.”

  “At once,” he said as he set her back against the blanket and placed down the shell holding the soup. Speedily, he retrieved her clothing and returned to her side.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said as he again took her in his arms, and bringing her up, he offered her more of the broth. Before partaking of the soup, she added, “You have greatly aided me. And I believe there is no human being alive that would doubt that you are a man of ethical quality.”

  “Nyah-weh.” He nodded. “Thank you for the compliment, but do not give me your trust so easily. Be skeptical, doubt me, test me, before you pass judgment.”

  “Sir, are you saying in a more covert way that you might, after all, be inclined to force me to . . . to . . .”

  “Neh, no. Were that the case, I believe we would not be discussing it. But since you are obviously nervous and question whether or not you will remain a maiden under my care, let me try to reassure you. Though words are often hollow, I tell you this, I give you my promise that I will not take from you that which you are unwilling to give. The fact that we are alone, that I am physically stronger than you, will not move me to change my mind. I pledge my word of honor that your feminine beauty and privacy are safe with me so long as you wish them to be. Honor alone will keep you safe, for in my society, a decent man takes his pleasure only from the one he aims to make his own. At least, a man who is my age does.” Again, there was a detection of humor in his voice as he continued, saying, “In a man’s youth, it is not unusual for him to accept whatever a woman is willing to give, even if there is no intent to marry.”

  “Indeed!”

  “But time and age can work on a man to make him wiser, I think.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed this declaration. And though Sarah realized it was kind of him to do his best to settle her mind, in truth, she had no idea how to respond to him. Indeed, thus far in her life, she’d had little experience in confronting such brutal honesty from someone, especially a person of the opposite sex. The world in which she moved never discussed such concepts—at least not in social settings.

  There it was again—a reference to her past. How did she know these things? More to the point, were there other memories attached to this one that she might recall?

  Frowning, she touched her forehead, as though that action alone might release the floodgates.

  “Did you remember something? ”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, I thought that perhaps I had, but, pray, I am still as unaware of my past as you are.”

  “Do not alarm yourself,” he said reassuringly. “In time, your memory will return.”

  “I do hope you are right. I sincerely pray it will be so. But tell me,” she uttered, curious again as she asked, “you said something a moment ago that caught my attention and I fear I must ask you about it. You said, ‘a man of my age.’ Surely, sir, you are not so very old? ”

  “I am thirty and five summers.”

  So he was older than she was after all. Why, she was only . . . Sarah furrowed her brow. Dear Lord, even the knowledge of her age escaped her. Sighing hard, she said, “And are you married, sir? ”

  “Nyoh. Neh.”

  “What does that mean? ”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I fear I do not understand. Yes and no? ”

  “My wife is dead,” he explained. “But she still lives on, deep within my heart.”

  “Ah,” Sarah said. “Now I think I understand.” And so she did, though why she shared such empathy with him was not completely clear to her. She continued, “How long ago did she die? ”

  “It has been fifteen summers since she walked this earth in the flesh.”

  “Fifteen summers,” Sarah repeated. “I am sorry for your loss. ’Twas fifteen years ago? She must have been little more than a woman in her teens. May I ask what took her away from you at so young an age? Was it childbirth? ”

  He shook his head. “Neh, no. And I mean no offense to you, so please do not take one. I do not speak of her death.”

  Sarah gazed away from him. “I understand.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Do you? ”

&
nbsp; He said merely, “You spoke often of people you love.”

  Sarah frowned.

  “In your sleep,” he explained. “In some ways, we are alike, you and I. We both love people who can no longer be with us in the flesh.”

  “Yes,” she said, but she was embarrassed. Though she couldn’t bring back to mind the memories she’d told him, apparently in her stupor she had related her deepest thoughts and perhaps her most intimate secrets. Alas, the fact was disconcerting. She said, “I am very sorry to hear that I spoke out as I did. Had I been awake and in my senses I would have never burdened you with my memories.”

  “Do not be sorry. Your pain has endeared you to me.”

  “Oh? Endeared?” Again Sarah was caught off guard. She simply didn’t know what to expect of a man who was so utterly forthright in his words. Indeed, it seemed to be out of her realm of experience.

  So as to steer the subject back toward something more easily spoken about in a polite society, she said, “I am frustrated. I have awakened only to find that I do not know who I am, where I am from or even who are my friends.”

  “It is true, and what you feel is to be understood, but with time, it will come to you,” he assured her. “You have only awakened this very first day. Do not expect too much too soon. One begins a long journey by first taking a single step. Yet, if he keeps onward, placing one footfall after another, he will eventually arrive at his destination. Rest, sleep, eat well. You will remember. And when you at last recall the details most important to you, upon your request, I will return you to those who are your people.”

  “Yes,” said Sarah, “I would like that.”

  But did she really like the idea of that? Some innate warning caused her to doubt the sincerity of those words even as she spoke them. If that were true, why did she not feel more elation at the prospect returning home?

  “Come,” he said, “we have talked enough. It is time for you to rest again. We will have time aplenty for talk later.”

  Sarah might have remarked on his presumption, for she was uncertain she could go back to sleep simply because he required it of her, but she held back any criticism. Instead, when he gently lowered her back against her bed, she murmured, “Thank you again, sir. You have been most kind. May I ask the name of my benefactor, please? ”

  He didn’t utter a sound. Instead, as though she had suddenly grown hot to his touch, he laid her down and ended their embrace quickly, albeit too quickly. In truth, the action was so suddenly done that it drew Sarah’s attention away from herself, and onto him. Odd. He acted as though he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

  He stood up to his feet. Only then did he say, “A man does not speak his own name. To do so is dishonorable.”

  “Oh?” As Sarah settled in against the cushion of pine boughs and soft blanket, she studied this man before her and commented, “Then what shall I call you, sir? ”

  He smiled, and Sarah thought the world might have suddenly turned brighter. If it be true that some people’s smiles grace the world around them, and that a single grin might be sufficient to cause others to smile, too, then this man certainly possessed that gift. Indeed Sarah discovered the impulse was more than she could resist, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

  But he was continuing to speak, and she gave him her full attention as he said, “You state a good point and so I think I might make an exception with you since there is no other way for you to discover who I am.”

  “Yes, it would be most kind of you to tell me, sir.”

  “He-noh, White Thunder,” he said. “I am known as White Thunder.”

  Sarah breathed in deeply before saying, “He-noh. It is a good name, Mr. Thunder. A good name, indeed. Is there a reason? ”

  White Thunder didn’t pretend to misunderstand her question. Coming down to kneel again at her side, he said, “It is well known among my people that the thunder is a kind god, for he accompanies the rain which nourishes the earth. But he is also a lonely god, for his wife, the earth, is ever separate from him. Sometimes, he cannot contain his loneliness and we oftentimes witness what happens when this is so, for the lightning kisses the ground. You have seen this? ”

  “Aye.”

  “Because my wife is ever separate from me, I am called Thunder. Because she is amongst the Sky People, I am named White for the clouds.”

  Sarah was quiet for the beat of a moment while she registered all he had said. Then, softly, she uttered, “You must miss your wife very much.”

  He didn’t respond to her by word. Instead, he drew away from her, as though she had trampled upon forbidden territory. “Sleep now,” he said. “Food to nourish you and uninterrupted rest will see that you regain your strength.”

  Thus spoken, he rose up, and before she could say another word, he turned his back on her and stepped away, leaving Sarah alone to watch his retreating backside.

  Indeed, he was gone so quickly and so fast that his reaction might have seemed strange to another, but not so to Sarah. Sarah well understood the ill effect that a great loss can hold over a person.

  She might not remember exactly why she knew or how she had come to know it, she realized only that it was. Perhaps, she thought, when it involves matters of the heart, instinct alone is all one needs.

  Five

  Gradually, the darkness that accompanies the return of dawn became the shadowy silver of early morning. Dew clung to every leaf and blade of grass as the world around White Thunder awakened. The trees, the shrubs, the bushes were bursting with the colors of gold, red and orange as they announced their departure from this world into a wintery sleep. Even without the sun, thought White Thunder, the landscape’s brightness lit up the land as though each living thing contained the mystical powers of the sun.

  Interestingly, here and there, White Thunder spotted the pigment of yellow, placed in amongst the greens, reds and golds of the forest. The color reminded him of the hue of the English woman’s hair.

  White Thunder shook his head. He was beginning to think he was besotted with this woman who had literally been dumped into his life. Indeed, if he were honest, he would admit that he was drawn to her. But there was not a thing he would do about it. Not only were the two of them from different worlds—giving him no reason to flirt with her—his heart, his very life, belonged to another, to Wild Mint.

  Spreading out his arms toward the eternity of the skies above him, he prayed as he sang:“Howenio, Creator, I greet the morning with the happiness of a new day.

  “Howenio, Creator, I thank you for what you have brought me.

  “But, Howenio, Creator, I do not understand.

  “Is there a reason this gift has come into my life?

  “Howenio, Creator, my heart belongs to another, will always belong to another.

  “Howenio, Creator, though I thank you for what you have brought to me, I wonder.

  “Do you test me?

  “Howenio, Creator, I will do all within my power to remain faithful to the one who will always hold my heart.

  “But, Howenio, Creator, a man is but a man, and this woman you have brought to me is beautiful.

  “Howenio, Creator, I do not understand.

  “Howenio, Creator, thank you for your gift.”

  “Howenio, Creator, I greet the morning with the happiness of a new day.”

  White Thunder lowered his arms to his side and turned away from the east, where the sun was only now beginning its artistry, painting the skies with pinks, blues and golds. Soon the world would be bright with the radiance of autumn and sunlight.

  As White Thunder stepped away from the large rock where he had recited his morning prayer, he felt a cold touch upon his shoulder. There was no one there, and no reason to turn around, save one. It was Wild Mint.

  He smiled. Wild Mint was here with him. Hadn’t she avowed that she would be—at least until his task was completed?

  Alas, so heinous had the crime been against her, he understood that she could not, she must not, pas
s into the realm of the Sky People, even though a ceremony had been performed to release her. Not until true justice had been served, regardless of how long that took, would she be able to travel into the next realm of existence.

  On a brighter note, he was happy she was here with him. Her touch was always welcome; it was her way of reassuring him that she was here, on his side, keeping him firmly grounded in his purpose.

  But he did wonder: Was it her voice or was it the wind that whispered to him? “Do not forget your duty.”

  “Never!” he cried.

  Oh, to hold her in his arms again, to hear her laughter, to touch her, to make love to her.

  But no sooner had these thoughts begun, when, unbidden, the image of another woman filled his vision. She was delicate, with a small bone structure and a shortish stature, a woman who would probably come no higher than his shoulders were she to stand upright. With natural ringlets of blond hair and deep, trusting blue eyes, she had managed to become a part of his musings.

  The English woman. What was he to do with her?

  His life held no place for her, though he admitted that if he were free to woo her, he might try to persuade her into his arms. He might even attempt to coax her into his life. In truth, the mere idea of wedding her and bedding her encouraged such instant changes to his body that his mind spun with the possibilities. It was a shock. He’d thought such cravings were long dead within him.

  Staring down, he was not happy to witness the effects mere thoughts about her had on him. Indeed, he realized that although his body’s reaction affirmed that he was still a healthy male, this state was a complication he could ill afford.

  White Thunder sighed. Were cold-water swims, taken during any part of the day, to become a regular habit with him?

  He hoped it would not be. Unfortunately for him, he feared many a cold bath might lurk in his future. For days and days now, he had held her in his arms as he’d nursed her and fed her and coaxed life back into her. And if he were honest, he would admit to experiencing more than one moment when he had wished she were his.