Chapter Thirteen
The sun rose high in the sky and then began to make its descent. Sometime after noon Tshingee stopped for water and untied Deborah, allowing her to sit up before he tied her to the short-legged pony again. Then they moved on; neither Deborah nor Tshingee had uttered a single word since they'd left the Lenni Lenape village at dawn.
For hours Deborah rode in stubborn silence. She was furious with Tshingee; she was furious with herself. How had their love for each other come to this? How could she be so selfish as to ask Tshingee to risk his own brother's life and allow her to stay? But how could Tshingee send her back to Host's Wealth, knowing the woman he loved was to become another man's wife? Nothing made any sense anymore, and the longer Deborah wrestled with her thoughts, the more confused she became.
Finally Tshingee stopped and began to set up camp for the night. Deborah watched him as he gathered wood and disappeared into the forest, returning a few minutes later with a hide bucket filled with fresh water.
"Are you going to untie me now, or do I sleep here too?" she asked sarcastically.
He didn't look up from where he knelt preparing a bed for the campfire. "Depends . . ."
She lifted a sooty eyebrow. "On what?"
"On whether or not you will cooperate. I will not chase you through the forest. I have no time to waste. My brother waits."
"Run?" She laughed harshly. "Where am I going to run to? It's obvious I'm not welcome in your village. You think I'm going to run home? They'll not be any more pleased to have me than you were."
Tshingee winced inwardly. Returning Deborah to the Tidewater was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do—couldn't she see that? Didn't his Red Bird know how much this pained him? He removed his tinderbox from a bag around his waist and started the fire. "Do you swear you will not run?"
She rolled her eyes. "I swear. Now please let me down!"
He took his time, feeding the infant flames chunks of dried moss, then small sticks. Finally he added three branches and then came to her. He pulled a long-bladed knife from his belt and cut the leather thongs. Deborah swung her legs over the pony, but when her feet hit the ground, they refused to hold her. Her knees buckled and she swayed. Instinctively, Tshingee put out his arms to steady her.
Deborah lifted her lashes to meet his molten gaze. For a long moment a taut silence stretched between them. She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, unable to tear her gaze from his. Her hands rested on the broad expanse of his chest. Without thinking she smoothed the linen of the shirt he wore beneath his fur cloak. "You know" she whispered, "your taking me back, it changes nothing between us."
Tshingee could feel his resolve wavering. He had sworn he would never touch her again. He had sworn to separate his emotions from his logic. Still, his hands ached to caress her. He could see her lips trembling in anticipation. . .
"I know." He released her, turning his back on her to add more sticks to the growing campfire.
Deborah sighed. "How long until we reach Host's Wealth?"
"A day on foot, another day and a half by dugout if the weather is good."
"Then what?" She cupped her hands and drank from the hide water bucket.
"Then we wait. Four nights from tonight the exchange will take place."
"Will John go back with you or will he remain at the cabin?" She hugged her cloak, turning her back to the biting wind.
"I do not know what my brother will do." He handed her a hunk of venison jerky, avoiding eye contact. "Eat. We will move at dawn."
The following day passed much like the last, only now Deborah walked beside the pony rather than being tied to it. Hour after hour passed as they traveled east and Tshingee said nothing save to give brief commands. By noon, Deborah had given up trying to talk to him, and suffered the remainder of the day in bitter silence. At dusk the two reached a river and Tshingee began to set up camp. After unloading the packs from the pony, he gave the animal a pat on the backside and it took off in the direction they'd come.
"Where's he going?"
"Home." Tshingee was gathering firewood.
"Home? But how does he know where home is?"
"Bee could find his way home from here. It's a simple line west, around the briar patch and another quarter of a day north."
Deborah nodded, watching the pony wishfully as he disappeared from sight. "Wish I was going with him," she murmured.
The following morning Tshingee woke Deborah. The dew on the grass glimmered with frost and the wind carried the scent of a winter storm. "Put out the fire and make ready to go," he told her, tightening the tie on his cloak.
"Where are you going?"
"There's a dugout within a mile of here. We will take it up the Migianac."
"This is the Migianac?" She stared at the running river, disturbed that she was so close to home and hadn't known it.
Not bothering to reply, Tshingee set off down river, following the bank. An hour later he returned, bringing the wooden dugout to a halt. He treaded water with the single paddle, trying to keep the vessel from moving backward. "The river is swift," he called. "Throw the bags and then I will come for you. Hurry."
Running down the bank, Deborah flung a hide knapsack and then another. Wrapping her water bag and several other leather bags of assorted sizes around her neck, she waved. "I'm ready."
"I cannot get that close to the shore," he called above the sound of the churning white water. "Ahead there is a tree trunk hanging out over the water." He pointed. "Walk out on it and drop into the dugout as I come under it."
"Drop into it?" she asked incredulously.
"That or swim out."
She groaned aloud. "If I drown, it's your fault." She threw up her hands, tromping along the bank. "There's a storm coming. We don't belong out on that river riding on that log," she complained. Reaching the fallen tree, she mounted it and walked out along the trunk, her arms spread for balance.
Tshingee leaned forward, kneeling in the bottom of the boat and paddled, directing the dugout squarely beneath the tree. Deborah gave a little yelp as she leaped, but she landed safely in the bow. The dugout rocked violently in the water, but Tshingee steadied it and began to paddle.
Once in the dugout, the water seemed even rougher to Deborah than it had from the shore. "Are you certain we ought to be doing this?" she asked. "The sky looks awfully dark." The wind howled, whipping her hair in her face.
"I told you. We have no time to waste. We will ride the Migianac until she becomes too angry and then we will go ashore."
Deborah held on to the sides of the dugout as it rocked and swayed violently. She watched Tshingee as he fought to keep the boat on course. He shrugged his cloak from his shoulders and rolled up his sleeves, baring his uncovered arms to the frigid air. He paddled so hard that the veins stood out on his biceps. "How much time are we saving when you have to paddle that hard? We should go ashore and wait out the storm."
"Silence," he muttered. "Perhaps the storm will pass over us."
But it didn't. The wind began to blow harder, the trees along the shoreline bending in submission. The dugout made less and less progress as Tshingee paddled harder. Branches littered the water which churned and splashed, threatening to sink the dugout.
"You don't have to impress me, Tshingee. Enough is enough." Deborah shouted. Water came in over the sides, soaking them both. "We're going to drown."
"I have been in the great ocean in a dugout," Tshingee replied. Sleet pelted his face, soaking his ebony hair so that it hung in a shimmering curtain about his face.
At that moment a large tree stump bobbed up in front of them. Deborah shouted a warning and Tshingee leaned hard to the left, paddling desperately to avoid it. The dugout hit the trunk with a loud crash and splintering of wood and suddenly Deborah found herself in the frigid, churning water.
She bobbed up, catching the corner of the turned-over dugout. "Tshingee!" she shouted. Clutching the bark dugout, she kicked, turning this way and that. For a moment she saw a glimpse of his cloak, but then through the sleet she lost sight of him.
Holding tightly to the log, she kicked to stay free of the floating debris that littered the surface. She was so cold that her hands were blue and her teeth chattered, but she hung on. The water washed her a quarter of a mile farther down the river before the dugout miraculously became caught in a tangle of briars hanging from the bank.
Gasping for breath, Deborah pulled herself onto the bank, wiping the water from her eyes. Which way? she thought desperately. Upstream or down? Which way is he? Down, instinct told her. She would have traveled more slowly hanging on to the dugout.
Racing down the bank, Deborah shouted Tshingee's name over and over again, praying there would be a reply. She was finally rewarded with a hoarse "Here."
Scrambling down the bank, she caught sight of Tshingee's dark head. He hung on to a long branch, caught along the side of the bank. "Deborah . . ." He held his hand out to her.
Deborah dropped her hands to her hips. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she could barely speak. "St . . . stupid, hardheaded redskin!"
"Deborah. Help me!"
"Oh, don't worry, he says! I've been in the great ocean in my dugout log! I'm a great Lenni Lenape warrior. I can ride this out."
Tshingee's hand slipped on the wet bark and he struggled desperately to catch a hold of something more stable. "Deborah! I can't hold on much longer and my legs are tangled beneath the water. Help me!"
"I don't know why I should!" She picked up a long branch from the bank. "Why should I?" she shouted, spitting a lock of wet hair out her mouth. She held the branch over his head, just out of his reach. "Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't let you drown!"
He shook his head in disbelief. If he hadn't been in such dire straits, he thought he would have laughed. This white woman was mad! "Because I love you," he shouted.
Sighing, she lowered the branch until he caught it Then, she held on with all her might, using a sapling to get better leverage as he crawled out of the water and up the bank. Finally the pull on the branch went slack and Tshingee crumpled on the ground facedown. Shaking violently with cold, Deborah kneeled beside him, suddenly frightened.
"Tshingee, are you all right?" She rolled him over. His eyes were shut, his face pale, his breathing shallow. "My God, Tshingee, I didn't mean—"
His eyes flew open and his arms went around her as he pulled her down on top of him, laughing.
"Oh! You!" She slapped him hard in the chest with both hands. "I thought you'd nearly drowned. I ought to roll you down the bank and—" Her eyes met his and suddenly she was pressing her cold, trembling lips to his.
Tshingee hesitated for only a moment before he was threading his hands through her wet hair, accepting her lips greedily. He delved deep into her mouth with his tongue, reveling in the warmth of her desire. Deborah clung to him, her heart pounding.
When their lips parted, Deborah brushed the wet hair from his face. "I . . . I'm freezing," she chattered. "How are we ever going to get warm?"
Tshingee rolled from beneath her and stood, offering his hand to help her up. "An abandoned cabin, northwest of here. We can start a fire and get in out of the cold." Sleet was falling heavily now, pelting them and forming a slick frozen crust over their clothing.
"We didn't lose too much." She grimaced, patting the bags still strung around her neck. "No thanks to you of course."
Tshingee hurried her along, headed inland from the river. "Where's the dugout?"
"Gone. D —didn't you see it pass you? I hung on to it until I got to shore but then it floated away—pieces of it anyway." She hung on tightly to his hand, suppressing a smile. It had been worth nearly drowning to have Tshingee touch her like this again, to feel his lips on hers.
"I am sorry that my foolishness cost us this time and the dugout. You were right, I should have waited for the storm to pass before starting upriver." He shook his head. "I don't know what you've done to me, Red Bird. I was never so unthinking before you came into my life."
Deborah let the comment pass. "You know where a cabin is, and this is the second boat you've had hidden along the river. What else have you hiding in wait at your disposal?"
He chuckled. "A man should always be aware of the dangers along the path; he must be prepared. The first dugout belongs to my brother and I. We use it for duck hunting. The second was very old, belonging to a Shawnee cousin of mine who has gone west. The cabin I knew of because my grandfather once had a friend who lived there." He ducked a low-hanging branch and lifted it to let Deborah through.
"How far? It's so cold." The wind whipped and howled through the trees, blowing their cloaks open with each gust. The wet clothing she wore was so heavy with water that she could barely walk.
"A mile perhaps. Just keep walking." Tshingee slipped his arm beneath her cloak. "Think of the warm fire. Hot tea."
She shook her head. "One of the food bags went down with the boat. The tea probably went with it."
"Then I will find something to make you tea with." He brushed his lips against her forehead.
Just when Deborah thought she couldn't walk another step, a cabin appeared in a small clearing deep in a pine grove. The structure was a tiny, log lean-to with part of one wall missing. The wood was charred black from a fire long ago. "That's going to be warm?" Deborah asked doubtfully.
"Do you prefer a hollowed log? I know of one a few miles—"
"All right! All right!" Deborah laughed at herself. "Please, just start a fire so I can get these wet things off."
Together the two entered the cabin through the hole in the wall. The whole structure was no more than ten by ten feet, including a crumbling brick hearth and chimney. It was dark and musty-smelling inside, but it was dry save for a small area where the rain and sleet had come in through the hole.
Tshingee busied himself making a fire with the flint and steel he still carried in a bag on his waist. Using pieces of bark he chipped from an inside wall for kindling, the tiny spark of a fire glowed in a matter of minutes.
"Not much to burn in h—here," Deborah pointed out, standing as close to the fire as possible.
"Keep feeding it with the bark. I will find wood." He started back through the hole in the wall.
"Outside in this?"
He didn't reply but ten minutes later he returned with an armful of relatively dry wood. He smiled. "One just has to know where to look."
Deborah watched proudly as he added a thick log to the fire on the tiny brick hearth. Then he removed his cloak and began tacking it over the hole in the wall. "Give me your cloak. The inside will dry while the fur side keeps the rain out."
Deborah handed him her cloak in amazement. He was so clever! "Now what?" She rubbed her bare arms briskly. Already the warmth of the fire was heating the tiny room.
"Take off your clothes."
"I was hoping you'd say that," she said huskily. She grinned when he turned to look at her.
Both knew that today they would not be able to resist each other. Today their differences would be pushed aside, forgotten for a few brief fleeting moments of pleasure.
Deborah trembled inwardly in anticipation as she stripped off her wet moccasins and sleeveless winter dress. Laying out her clothes so that they would dry, she came up behind Tshingee, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You're shivering," she whispered. "Take off your wet things."
Slowly he turned to her. "I shiver for want of you, Red Bird. I tell myself again and again the reasons why I must keep my distance from you . . . " His hands fell to his sides as she tugged his linen shirt over his head and began to unlace the ties of his leather leggings. "But I long for you. I long to hold you. I long to touch you."
She smiled up at him, letting the legging fall from her fingers to the floor. "Touch me, Tshingee."
"It is not right. You belong to another man."
She dropped to her knees and began to unlace his wet moccasins. "Soon I'll belong to another man. Today I belong to you." She removed the second moccasin.
Tshingee could not stifle a groan as she moved her hands over his knees and up the length of his corded thighs. His eyes drifted shut. "Would that I could change what has happened. What must. But I see no way to keep you and my family safe. If I come back for you once John is released, the whites will hunt us down. I have seen the slaughter of entire villages . . ." His voice caught in his throat.
"Shhhh," Deborah soothed, pressing feathery kisses to his burgeoning flesh. "I know, Tshingee. Don't think about it. I know that if it were in your power, if it were in mine, we would be together, but it's like Snow Blanket told me. It's just not in the stars."
Tshingee looked down at Deborah. He offered his hands to her, intertwining their fingers. His ebony eyes shone bright with a mixture of pride and regret. "I love you, my Red Bird. You must remember that always. No matter what I say, what I do." Slowly he dropped to his knees before her. "No matter what, you must remember that that is what is in my heart." He pressed her hand to his chest.
"I'll remember." She kissed him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Then she smoothed his cheek with her palm.
Tshingee lowered his head, catching the tip of her rounded breast with his mouth. Deborah laughed deep in her throat, throwing her head back. "I'll never forget you, Tshingee. I'll never forget what you do to me," she murmured, caressing the breadth of his back.
Cradling her in his arms, Tshingee lowered her to the floor, stretching the length of his body over hers.
"Love, me," Deborah whispered, threading his long midnight tresses through her fingers. Keep the world at bay just a little longer."
Tshingee lowered his mouth to hers and for a brief time they were lost in the bittersweet flame of ecstasy.
Hand in hand Deborah and Tshingee walked the last mile to the place where the exchange would take place. Deborah said nothing, not trusting herself. She just held on to Tshingee, her cheek resting against his arm.
A chilling breeze whipped off the Migianac River, blowing Tshingee's ebony hair off his shoulders to tangle in Deborah's. His heart was heavy but he walked with a determined stride of resolution.
"When will they be there?" Deborah asked quietly.
"Dusk."
"They will bring John?"
"I told your father he must if you are to be returned."
Deborah's lower lip trembled. Ahead she could hear the sound of low male voices and the occasional snort of a horse. The sun was just beginning to set over the western horizon. Deborah pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as if she could ward off the men's presence as well as the cold. "They're early," she whispered.
Tshingee stopped, taking Deborah in his arms. He knew her father was just around the next bend in the river. "I say good- bye now to you, Red Bird, and I warn you. Do not tell anyone of the two of us."
Deborah stared up into his dark eyes, trying to memorize the curve of his high bronze cheekbones, the line of his long majestic nose. She laughed nervously. "You think me a fool? There will be talk enough without my adding fuel to the fire."
He kissed her lips tenderly. "We must go."
Deborah slid her hand beneath his cloak, touching his neck as she kissed him again. "What's this?" She pulled back his cloak to study a strange braided cord around his neck. It was thin and shiny.
He lifted his hand to his neck. "I must confess, Red Bird. When I cut your hair— " he tugged on her shorn front lock—"I did not send it all to your father. I kept of piece of you for myself."
Smiling, Deborah drew his cloak back and tied the thong tightly. "Another kiss," she whispered, "and then let's go, before I lose my nerve.
"I love you, Deborah."
"I love you, Tshingee."
Sealing their fate with a final kiss, Tshingee started for the bend in the river and Deborah fell in step behind him.
"Here they come!" came a harsh male voice through the trees.
"Where?" another shouted.
"There, can't you see I'm. The redskin!"
"What of Lady Deborah? She there?"
"Don't know. There's a female but she looks like another red bastard to me!"
Deborah kept her head lowered, following in Tshingee's footsteps. When she heard him stop, she stopped. She could not lift her gaze from her moccasins for fear of losing control.
"So, finally we meet, redskin," came the Earl of Manchester's voice. "Slick devil, aren't you? We combed these woods for a hundred miles looking for you and your filth."
Tshingee breathed evenly, studying the group of men out of the corner of his eye. Deborah's father was a rotund man with hanging jowls and slick dark hair. Behind him were a circle of men on horseback that surrounded John who was on foot. Behind that clump, in the rear, was the boy James and another man holding the reins of Deborah's horse. "Send my brother forward. I will return your daughter and we will all go in peace," Tshingee stated evenly.
The Earl leaned forward on his horse. "What if you mean to trick me, redskin? Doesn't look like much is left of my daughter standing there in those filthy rags. What other tricks have you got up your sleeve?"
"Tricks? I am an unarmed man, as I'm sure you are." The agreement had been no weapons, but Tshingee was certain he saw the butt of a musket protruding from beneath the Earl's cloak. "You bring an army of men. Who is the trickster?"
"Can we get on with this?" Deborah suddenly demanded, stepping forward.
Tshingee reached out with an iron grasp. "First, untie John and send him forward. Then I release your daughter."
The Earl sighed, nodding to one of his bondmen. "Let him go, Lester."
Deborah watched as her father's overseer cut the binding at John's hands. John flinched. Out of the corner of her eye, Deborah saw Thomas move forward on his mount, leading her horse, Joshua.
"So he's loose now, redskin. Send my daughter forward."
Tshingee took a deep breath. John was still surrounded by half a dozen men. Slowly Tshingee let go of Deborah's arm. As he released his grasp on her, he felt his heart slipping. In a moment his brother would be safe, but a blackness settled over his spirit as Deborah walked forward.
The man who was to marry Deborah helped her mount and then began to lead her away. Time stood still as Tshingee watched Thomas lead Deborah around the group of men and into the woods. Her brother trailed behind them.
Deborah kept her back ramrod straight as Thomas led her out of the clearing. She could feel Tshingee's eyes on her and her heart swelled with pride. I love you, her heart sang out.
James chuckled, riding up behind her. "Got his red ass, don't we, Thomas?" He waved a musket.
Deborah spun around in horror. The instant her eyes met her brother's, she knew what he meant. "No!" she screamed. Leaning forward she yanked Joshua's reins out of Thomas's hand. Sinking her heels into her horse's flanks, she wheeled him around and headed back through the trees toward her father and his men. As she passed James, her hand shot out and she grabbed his musket from his hand.
Holding the musket over her head, she pulled the trigger, riding into the clearing. The air filled with the booming sound of black powder and the shrill resonance of her voice. "It's a trap! Run, Tshingee! Run!"