Chapter Twenty-three
Skeletal limbs hung from the bare trees, casting dark finger like shadows across Deborah's path. The sun had already begun to set and still she had not caught up with Tshingee and his men. The partially melted ground squished beneath Deborah's feet as she ran along the riverbank, positive that around the next bend, she would find the Lenni Lenape warriors.
Pushing her hood off her head, Deborah brushed back a lock of hair that stuck to her perspiring skin. The thought of spending the night alone in the forest made her continue to run even after her stomach began to ache and her lungs burned. Though she'd spent last night in the forest without the comfort of Tshingee's protection, somehow that seemed different. With Mary to look after, Deborah had wasted no time with concern for herself. But tonight, as twilight settled in, Deborah's own fears began to seep into her logic, clouding her thoughts.
Inhaling deeply, Deborah began to run again. She prayed that with the coming of darkness Tshingee and his men would have set up camp for the night. As long as she kept to the river's bank, she could still travel.
Slowing to a walk, Deborah panted heavily. She didn't know what she was going to say when she met up with Tshingee. All she knew was that she couldn't go back to Host's Wealth, not ever again. Her only hope for her baby was to be accepted among the Wolf Clan of the Lenni Lenape.
It had been done before. Snow Blanket had told Deborah of a white woman who had been rescued by the Lenni Lenape in a fight with the Hurons. When the Lenni Lenape had offered to return her to her home in Penn's Colony, she had chosen instead to remain with them and marry one of the braves. She had lived out the remainder of her life with the Wolf Clan and died at the age of seventy-three only a few years ago.
Deborah heard a twig snap behind her and she spun around. Seeing nothing, she laid her hand on the pistol tucked into her belt. An instant later someone leaped from the tree above, landing just behind her. Deborah whipped around, yanking the pistol free to aim it at the intruder.
"What are you doing?" Tshingee demanded angrily.
Deborah heaved a sigh of relief, lowering the weapon. "You scared the wits out of me." She looked up at the tree above them. "Was that really necessary?"
He rested his hands on his narrow hips. "Have you not had enough of the enemy for one day? Had I been Mohawk, your throat would have been cut, your life's blood flowing onto the ground."
"But you're not Mohawk."
"Why are you here? Where are the other women?"
"I sent them on alone."
"Why?" Tshingee's voice was stark and hostile.
Deborah's resolve wavered. Where was the man she loved? This man couldn't possibly be the father of her child. The father of her child was warm and caring, a shimmer of light in the darkness. This man, standing before her, was darkness itself. "I . . . I'm going back to the village with you and Mary."
"You are not welcome among the Lenni Lenape any longer."
"What happened to John was not my fault. I did everything in my power to save him." Deborah pulled the heavy pack off her back and threw it onto the ground. "I risked my life to save him and his family. Why can't you see that?"
"Your father—"
"My father, my father! Why can't you get this through your thick skull! I had no control over what the Earl did!"
"Among my people what one man does reflects on his name, on the name of his children and grandchildren."
"Well, among my people, a man is responsible for himself!" she spit. "You blame me because you couldn't save John yourself!"
Tshingee turned and walked away.
For a moment Deborah stood watching his silhouette. Then she scooped up her bag and ran after him. "Tshingee, I'm sorry. It's not true. I know it isn't."
Tshingee walked faster.
"Tshingee, please! I have nowhere to go."
"That is not my concern," he called over his shoulder. "What is it you told me, a man is responsible for his own actions? If you have nowhere to go, that is not my responsibility, it is yours."
"I'm not going back!" she hollered. "There's nothing left for me back there."
"There is nothing for you on the path ahead."
Deborah stopped following him. "What about you?" Her voice caught in her throat. "You once said you loved me."
He made no reply, and a moment later, he disappeared into the shadows of the trees.
"You can't do this to me," Deborah murmured beneath her breath. "You can't turn your back on me. You're all I have." Her hand went to her belly. "No, not all I have." With a sigh she lifted her backpack onto her shoulder and started along the riverbank. Ten minutes later she spotted the Lenni Lenape warriors' campfire.
Halting, Deborah stared at the bright flames. With the coming of night, the temperature had dropped. Her breath formed puffy white clouds as she laid her pack on the ground and pulled up the hood on her cloak. "So I'm not welcome, am I?" she said aloud. "I may not be welcome at your campfire, but you can't keep me from building my own!" She picked up several dry twigs and branches and dropped them into a pile. "The forest doesn't belong to you, Tshingee of the Wolf Clan," she went on as she gathered more wood. "A person can camp where they want to for the night."
Kneeling, Deborah crumpled several leaves she'd found clinging to a branch, and with the implements from her tinderbox, she soon had a tiny flame. Adding small sticks and bits of branches. her fire grew larger until it put off a soft, glowing heat. Wrapping herself in the blanket she'd kept, Deborah nibbled on a crust of bread brought from Host's Wealth, watching the Lenni Lenape camp.
Once it became completely dark, she could see nothing but the braves' campfire and the circle of light it cast. Shadows moved in and out of the light, giving Deborah a certain reassurance. Twice she saw Mary's silhouette as the child prepared for sleep. Even if Deborah couldn't spend the night with Mary and the warriors, she could at least see them. Resting her head on her backpack, Deborah pulled her blanket over her head and forced herself to close her eyes and try to sleep. At dawn, when the Lenni Lenape men moved, she would move with them. She didn't care if Tshingee said she was unwelcome in the village. She would see for herself.
The following morning Deborah woke with a start. Cold and shivering, she sat up and looked through the woods to where the Lenni Lenape had camped the night before. It was barely daybreak and they'd already broken camp. Cursing beneath her breath, Deborah struggled to get to her feet. Her limbs were stiff and achy and her head pounded from lack of sleep. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders for warmth, she went to the river and gathered a skin of water to put out the remainder of her campfire. Then, pulling on her mittens and tightening the string on her hood, she heaved her pack onto her back and started downriver. Tshingee and his men couldn't have gotten too far.
Before noon, Deborah caught up with them. Sitting on the frozen bank, a hundred yards from them, she munched on an apple turnover and drank water from her water skin. Tshingee and his men ignored her presence, and she ignored theirs. Once, Mary lifted her hand in salute, but Tshingee quickly scooped up the little girl and threw her across his shoulders. Mary squealed in delight and the two started downriver with Tshingee imitating a horse while Mary beat him on the back with a wool mitten.
Late in the afternoon the Lenni Lenape turned west. Recognizing the log Deborah had walked out on to jump into the dugout weeks before, she picked up a stick and hurled it into the slow-moving river. "Good-bye, Migianac," she said aloud. "Wish me luck." Turning west, she hurried on.
It was after dark when Tshingee and his men finally set up camp. Exhausted, Deborah gathered an arm full of wood and knelt to start her own fire within view of theirs. The remaining snow had melted completely during the heat of the day but the ground was cold beneath her, the dampness seeping through her skirts. Deborah's fingers were so numb that twice she dropped the flint and steel before she was finally able to strike a spark. Then her kindling refused to light, it smoked and went out. Nearing tears of frustration, Deborah got up and went in search of some dry bark or leaves. Just as she snatched a handful of shriveled moss from the side of a tree, she heard an eerie howl, followed by a second one.
Wolves.
Groaning aloud, Deborah returned to her campsite. "That's all I need," she mumbled as she knelt and diligently began the process of starting a fire again. This time she succeeded and soon had a blaze roaring at her fingertips. Gathering more wood, Deborah wrapped up in her blanket and settled down for the night. Leaning against a tree trunk, she stuck out her hands and feet to warm them. If her calculations were correct, they would reach the Lenni Lenape village by tomorrow night.
Letting her eyes drift shut, Deborah listened to the howl of the wolves in the distance. It wasn't her imagination. They were getting closer. Nervously, she threw another branch onto her fire and laid her pistol next to her on the ground. Through the woods, she could see the Lenni Lenape campfire. "He wouldn't let them eat me," she grumbled, poking at the fire with a stick. "At least I don't think he would."
An hour passed and then another as Deborah struggled to stay awake and keep her vigil over her burning fire. As long as she kept the flames alive, she knew the wolves could do her no harm. The Lenni Lenape braves slept, all save for one who stood guard over the group, pacing in the shadows beyond the fire's light.
Deborah suddenly sat upright, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She hadn't meant to doze off. Her eyes fell to the flames burning at her feet. She couldn't have been asleep long; the campfire still burned brightly. A twig snapped outside the circle of light and Deborah looked up. Her heart rose in her throat. Carefully she lowered her hand to the pistol at her side.
She was surrounded by wolves, their golden eyes piercing the darkness. The huge gray animals sat on their haunches just outside the fire's light, shifting their weight in anxious anticipation.
Deborah stabbed a tree limb into the flames and when it caught, she raised it above her head. "Get back!" she hissed. "Go on, get out of here!"
The closest wolf growled deep in its throat, taking a step back.
"I'll not be your supper," Deborah said shakily. "So just go on and go!" She heard a growl from behind and she leaped up, holding the torch in her hand. The yellow eyes followed her movements in unison.
"I said get back!" Deborah said louder, shoving the torch forward. One of the wolves turned and ran, circling the pack, only to find another position.
"A game is it?" Deborah asked. "Well, I'll not be had."
The wolves regarded her in macabre silence.
"If you want a good meal, why not try my neighbors. Nice young men," she said, adding another stick to her fire.
For several minutes Deborah just stood there listening to the pounding of her own heart and the wolves' heavy panting. She was so close to the flames that she feared she would catch her cloak on fire, but the moment she took a step forward, one of the wolves growled, rising up on all fours. When she stepped back, the animal again sat on its hindlegs.
Deborah glanced at the pistol at her feet. With only one shot, the weapon was nearly useless. There were so many wolves, and shooting one shot at a time, she'd be lucky if she could kill half of them before she ran out of ammunition. Besides, she was afraid of riling them. If the beasts were bold enough to come this close to the fire, it might only be a matter of time before one grew daring enough to try and reach her.
Slowly Deborah lowered herself to the ground. Kneeling, she threw her burning torch into the fire and reached for another branch. Her firewood supply was growing low. She hadn't anticipated needing to keep it blazing all night. Hesitantly she peered over the wolves' heads into the darkness. The Lenni Lenape campfire burned brightly, but there was no movement, no sign of the guard. Surely they knew the wolves had surrounded her!
Suddenly a wolf lifted its head and howled, its low mournful cry raising in pitch as it grew in volume. Another wolf joined in and then a third, rattling Deborah to the bone. A huge male with broken teeth and a torn ear stood only a few feet from her, his golden eyes boring down on her.
"It's only a game," she muttered. "Only a game. If I can just hold off until dawn, if the fire will just keep burning, I'll be all right. I don't need Tshingee, I don't need any of them." But as Deborah's second torch burned down and she tossed it into the fire, she realized she didn't have enough wood to keep it blazing like this until morning. She had barely enough fuel for another hour.
Moistening her dry lips, she glanced at the campfire through the woods. She weighed her odds against making it to the other camp. With so many beasts, she doubted she could make it, even carrying a torch. These animals were hungry and they were impatient. If she fell, running, she'd surely lose her life and that of her child's.
Out of the corner of her eye, Deborah watched the male wolf with the ragged ear shift positions. Slowly, methodically, he was edging his way toward the fire and toward her.
Suddenly there was loud human cry. Deborah looked up to see a lone figure racing toward her, a torch held high above his head. Deborah leaped to her feet, raising her own torch.
The wolves rose, backing away as the human grew closer. Low, guttural growls filled the air and the beasts turned and ran. The man waved his arms, shouting, his voice echoing high above the trees. The frightened animals ran for cover, diving through the brush and racing into the forest.
Deborah trembled with fear as she watched the man sprint past her in pursuit of the wolves.
A minute later Tshingee came walking into the sparse light of her dying campfire. His face was an emotionless mask. Without speaking, he picked up Deborah's backpack and started for the campsite in the distance. Sweeping her pistol off the ground, she grabbed her blanket and followed. Neither said a word as they crossed the distance between the two camps.
Reaching the Lenni Lenape campfire, Tshingee dropped her pack on the ground. Leaning over another warrior, he gently shook the man. The brave woke and scrambled to his feet. Tshingee slid beneath the brave's hide blanket and pulled it over his shoulders, rolling onto his side.
Exhaling in exasperation, Deborah laid her blanket out beside Mary's sleeping form and settled in for the remainder of night.
The following morning Deborah rose with the Lenni Lenape and when they broke camp and started northwest, she followed them. Mary was delighted to have Deborah among them and chattered non-top as they made their way toward the village.
Tshingee and the other braves ignored Deborah, behaving as if she didn't exist. They didn't speak to her; they pretended to see through her when they spoke among themselves. Tshingee led the group through the forest in silence, speaking to no one but Mary. When his niece grew tired, he lifted her onto his shoulders and carried her, never breaking stride. Noon passed and the group stopped for a short time then moved again. Not long after the sun had set, Deborah heard Tshingee sound the warning cry and a sentry answered. They had arrived.
Nervous with apprehension, Deborah followed the braves into the Lenni Lenape camp. Mary took her hand as the villagers came forward, surrounding them to greet their husbands and sons. Each man, woman, and child seemed to notice immediately that John Wolf was not among them. No one laughed, and voices were kept to hushed tones.
Snow Blanket greeted Tshingee with a hug. Her face was grave. "Gikiitte, giis. Tell us what has happened, Wildcat of the Wolf Clan."
Tshingee raised a hand and a stiff silence settled upon the group. He spoke in a hushed tone, his dark eyes moving from one person to the next. Deborah didn't know what he said in his native tongue, but she could tell by the villagers' faces that he was informing them of John's death.
Tears welled in Snow Blanket's eyes as her younger son took his mother's hand, squeezing it tight. He murmured in her ear and Snow Blanket looked up at Deborah through the crowd. "Mary. N'nitsch undach aal."
Mary glanced up at Deborah.
"Go on, go to your grandmother," Deborah whispered. "She needs you."
Hesitantly, the little girl released Deborah's hand and walked toward her grandmother. The crowd began to disperse, leaving the family to deal with their pain undisturbed.
Deborah could not hear what Snow Blanket said to her grandchild, but after several moments the two of them, hand in hand, started for Snow Blanket's wigwam. Tshingee turned his back on Deborah and followed.
For several seconds Deborah stood frozen, watching the threesome cross the camp. Campfires burned, casting bright light to illuminate the center of the camp. Families gathered around their fires, talking quietly and dishing out hot, meaty stews to their newly arrived husbands and sons.
Deborah sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve. She hadn't expected Snow Blanket to welcome her with open arms, but she hadn't expected this either. What was she going to do now?
A slim figure came out of the darkness, headed straight for Deborah. When a nearby campfire threw light across the person's face, Deborah smiled. "Suuklan!"
Suuklan smiled. "It is good to see you safe, n'tchu. I am sorry we do not meet in better times. You must be cold. Come to my fire and eat."
"Is . . . is it all right?" Deborah looked up at the other villagers mingling with their neighbors. "It seems I've become invisible to everyone else."
Suuklan picked Deborah's pack up off the ground and took her hand. "Come and sit. Eat. I have English tea. A wedding present from Tshingee."
Deborah's heart rose in her throat and she stopped in mid-step. "You're married?"
The Lenni Lenape woman smiled shyly. "To Sikihiila. Yes."
"Oh." Deborah gave a sigh of relief.
Suuklan giggled, leading Deborah to a nearby campfire. "Tshingee and me . . ." She paused. "I do not know how to say it. We love as brother and sister, but not as man and wife. The Blackbird is my husband." She looked up at Deborah, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment. "He makes me very happy."
"Then I'm happy for you, Suuklan." Deborah sat down on a hide mat in front of the fire.
Just then the flap of Suuklan's wigwam lifted and her husband, Sikihiila, came out. He passed Deborah and his wife without saying a word.
Deborah watched him cross the compound and enter another wigwam. "Suuklan, I don't want to cause trouble between you and Blackbird." She started to get up. "I'll go."
"Matta. No." Suuklan laid her hand gently on Deborah's shoulder. "There is no trouble. My husband understands my debt to you. If you had not saved me from the onna-bear. I would not have lived to be his wife." She took a wooden spoon and began to dish stew from a pot onto a wooden trencher. "Sikihiila understands, just as I understand that he must stay true to Tshingee. Tshingee is his friend. My husband will eat with his mother tonight." She giggled. "Tomorrow night he will enjoy my meal the better."
When Suuklan offered her the steaming plate of venison stew, Deborah accepted. "Thank you, for the meal and for your kindness. I'm so tired. Just worn out." She took a bite of the hearty stew. "And confused. I didn't mean for any of this to happen." She stared at Suuklan across the campfire. "I'd have done anything to save John Wolf if it had been in my power."
Suuklan nodded, drinking from a handleless earthen cup. "I know of your bravery, n'tchutti. I believe. Tshingee is a wise man. He needs time for his wounds to heal. Then he will come to know you truly meant his brother no harm."
"I love him so much, Suuklan. I would do anything to make everything all right again. We were so happy here in the village before he took me back to my father's home."
Suuklan handed her friend a cup of hot tea. "Do you go tomorrow?" she asked sympathetically.
"Go?" Deborah laughed without humor. "Go where? I have nowhere to go."
"You cannot go back to your people?"
Deborah scraped her plate with her wooden spoon. "No. My father tried to force me into marrying a man I did not love. I refused. Then I said yes, then I refused again. And now . . ." She stared into the firelight. "Now I carry Tshingee's child."
Suuklan rose up on her knees. "You would have the Wildcat's baby?"
Deborah stared at Suuklan with surprise. "I don't know why I told you that. I haven't told anyone."
"Not even Tshingee?" the Lenni Lenape woman asked gently.
"Him least of all." She set down her trencher and drew her red cloak closer around her shoulders. "I wanted him to want me for me. Not out of a sense of responsibility for the child. I ask that you not tell anyone about the baby."
"I would not. But now you carry the Wildcat's child and have nowhere to go."
Deborah nodded. "Really made a mess of things, haven't I? Tshingee told me to marry Tom. I guess I should have done it. At least then I'd have a roof over my head." She picked a twig up off the bare ground and tossed it into the fire. "How am I going to care for a baby when I haven't got a place to live?"
"I would ask you to come into my wigwam, but I cannot." Suuklan said sadly. "If you stayed, my husband could not."
Deborah smiled, her dark eyes meeting Suuklan's. "Thank you. It's the thought that's important. I understand. I'll just go into the woods and make a campfire for tonight. Tomorrow . . . "
"You cannot go into the woods. There are wolves in the forest. She stood up. "Sleep by my fire. Snow will not fall tonight. I have plenty of wood. You will be warm enough."
Deborah stared at the campfire wishfully. "It would be nice to at least sleep within the compound. I've had my share of wolves and Mohawks this week."
Suuklan lifted a large log and laid it on the fire. "Then stay here. I will bring a mat and blankets.
Deborah rose to her feet. "What about Sikihiila?"
Suuklan shook her head. "I am free to let you sleep at our fire. That can cast no shadow on my husband's face. This way, he keeps his honor and I keep mine. I only wish I could offer you more."
Deborah put her arms around the slight woman, hugging her. "You weren't the person I would have expected to stand by me, Suuklan. Thank you."
Suuklan returned the embrace. "This grateful woman welcomes you." Smiling, she withdrew. "I will get you a robe and blankets."
A short time later, Deborah snuggled down on a bearskin, pulling several hide blankets up to her nose. With the campfire blazing and the protection of the deerskin covers, she was nearly as warm as she would have been inside the wigwam.
"There. You will be safe and warm." Suuklan tucked a hot brick beneath the blankets, at her feet.
Just then, Sikihiila approached them. Walking past Deborah, without seeming to see her, he laid his hand on his wife's shoulder. Suuklan smiled, accepting the hand he offered her. Together the two ducked into their wigwam and the door flap fell.
Rolling onto her side, Deborah stared out over the Lenni Lenape village. Everyone had retired now and the campfires were beginning to die down. A wolf howled far in the distance and Deborah shivered, snuggling deeper beneath the deer hide pelts. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the shadow of a man across the compound. Squinting, she stared into the darkness.
The lone figure of a man stood in front of Snow Blanket's wigwam. His legs were slightly spread, his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulder-length hair blowing in the slight breeze. For a long time he remained there, staring into the dark, moonless night. Then as quickly as he'd appeared, he was gone.