Chapter Twenty-seven
The Lenni Lenape chief knitted his dark eyebrows. "You do not wish to marry the Wildcat?"
"Deborah!" Tshingee stared at her in disbelief.
She ignored him, keeping her eyes fixed on Gimewane. "He didn't ask me to marry him."
Tshingee groaned aloud. From behind him came several giggles and a chorus of male laughter.
"Tshingee," the chief said gravely. "This woman says you have not asked her to join with you. I cannot join you to a maid who does not wish to marry."
"She wants to join with me."
Another fit of giggles erupted from behind and Tshingee lowered his voice. "She loves me. I love her. We were meant to be one," he explained to the chief.
Deborah shook her head. "The brave, Tshingee, accused me of playing a part in his brother's death. I cannot marry him with such shame on my face."
Gimewane looked up at Tshingee. "She tells the chief—"
"I know what she said!" Tshingee interrupted sharply. For a moment he stood in silence, listening to the beat of the wedding drum. Then he glanced over his shoulder. Nearly everyone in the village had gathered to witness the marriage of Tshingee and Red Bird.
Taking a deep breath, Tshingee lowered himself down on one knee and took Deborah's hand. He bent his head. "Gimewane, tell this woman that this man, Tshingee, says his sorries for the things he has said. He knows she is not responsible for his brother's death."
Gimewane chuckled. "This brave says his sorries, Red Bird."
"This brave," Tshingee went on, "apologizes for the pain he has caused this woman and asks her forgiveness."
"Tshingee of the Wolf Clan asks your forgiveness, Red Bird," Gimewane echoed.
Deborah stared down at Tshingee's lowered head, a bittersweet smile on her lips.
"This brave wishes to tell this woman that he loves her and that he wants to join with her," Tshingee finished quietly.
Before Gimewane could repeat Tshingee's last words Deborah tugged on Tshingee's hands and he stood. Her dark eyes, brimming with tears, met his. "This woman grants her forgiveness," she said in a strong, clear voice. "This woman tells this man she loves him. Yes, she will marry him."
The crowd of villagers broke into laughter, clapping and stomping their feet as Tshingee's and Deborah's lips met.
Brushing the hair back off her face, Tshingee held Deborah against his chest. He smoothed her dark hair, kissing her forehead, then he turned and faced Gimewane and the shaman.
"Are you ready to begin again?" the chief asked with obvious amusement.
Deborah laughed, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "This woman is ready," she responded.
Tshingee lifted the flap of his wigwam and Deborah entered. She watched him come inside and lace the door shut. Suddenly she felt apprehensive.
Tshingee lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I'm sorry for the fool I've been," he said simply.
Deborah came to him, pressing a finger to his lips. "Shhh, we have both said things we do not mean. Things we did not truly feel in our heart of hearts." She stroked his cheek, bringing her lips to meet his softly, ever so gently.
Tshingee wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her against his hard, sinewy chest. "Even when I felt a burning anger with you, I could not deny my love for you, my Red Bird."
She lifted her chin to let him kiss the soft flesh of her neck. "I have loved you since the first day I saw you standing there in John's garden. You were so angry." She laughed. "So arrogant."
He chuckled with her. "Arrogant? You accuse this brave falsely."
She looked up at him, growing more serious. "Tshingee, I want you to know that if I could have prevented John's death, even with my own life I would have done so."
He tugged at her shorn lock of hair. "I know," he whispered. "And now let us speak of it no more. It is your wedding night." Taking her hand, he led her to a mat near the fire and knelt, bring her down with him. From a small pot he poured a cup of simmering herbal tea and offered it to her.
Deborah sipped the tea, glancing over the rim of the cup. Never in her life had she felt so completely fulfilled. She handed the cup to Tshingee and he drank from it. Then setting it down, he took her in his arms.
"I do not have a wedding gift for you, ki-ti-hi."
Deborah smoothed his bronze cheek with her hand, drawing an imaginary line down the bridge of his nose with her finger. "That's all right, because I have a gift for both of us." She took his hand and laid it on her stomach. "This is my gift to you, Tshingee of the Wolf Clan."
His eyes narrowed in confusion, then a smile broke out on his face. "A child?" he murmured with surprise.
She nodded. "A child that grows quickly."
He stared at her face for a moment. "Why do I think you have known about this for some time?"
She smirked. "Because I have."
"You should have told me. I had a right to know," he chastised.
Deborah kissed his mouth. "And what, have you accuse me later of forcing you to marry me? I wanted you to want me."
Tshingee touched the birthmark near her lip with the tip of his finger. "This man has always wanted you, Red Bird. He always will."
"Even when I'm old and fat?"
His laughter mingled with hers as their lips met. "Especially when you are old and fat."
Tshingee stroked Deborah's stomach with his broad hand. "I have been thinking, Red Bird," he said hesitantly.
"Yes?" She rested her head in his lap, staring up at him.
"I have been thinking that perhaps you and I . . . we should go west."
"West?"
"This land goes on for many moons. There is talk between some families of crossing the Ohio and walking into the sunset." His hand moved to the neckline of her doeskin dress. "West there are no white men. Plenty of land. Sunshine to raise our children in."
"Yes!"
"If we go west, it will be another hundred years before our children's children see another white man," he warned.
She shook her head, guiding his hand to the curve of her breast. "I don't care. I want our child to be safe. I don't know that I could ever feel safe here, not so close to my father."
Tshingee brought his mouth to the soft doeskin that covered her breasts. "Then it is done. Come spring, this man and this woman will walk west."
Deborah threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling his head down until their lips met. "Enough talk now, husband," she said, a husky catch in her voice. "We've other matters to attend to now."
The peaceful silence of dawn was shattered by the bellow of muskets and the pounding of hoof-beats as the white men rode into the sleeping Lenni Lenape village.
Tshingee leaped to his feet, pushing Deborah out of his arms.
"What's happening?" she cried as he stepped into his leggings and reached for his musket.
Tshingee grasped her by her bare forearms and lifted her to her feet. He pushed her doeskin dress into her arms. "Run, he ordered harshly. "Cross the stream and go to the walnut grove where you saved Suuklan from the bear." He strapped his knife to his waist and his bow and quiver to his back.
Outside the wigwam the sound of musket shots reverberated through the trees. Men shouted and women screamed as the camp leaped into action.
Deborah pulled the doeskin over her head. "I'm not going anywhere without you!"
He took her by the arm, his fingers sinking sharply into her flesh. "For our child, you must. They've come for you."
Tears ran down Deborah's cheeks as she rushed out of the wigwam in Tshingee's footsteps. The orderly Lenni Lenape camp had dissolved into a melee of screaming women and booming firearms. Thick black smoke filled the air, nearly blinding Deborah. "Tshingee," she choked, reaching out to him.
Turning back to her, he pulled against his bare chest and kissed her fiercely. Before she could respond he was racing into the smoke.
"What about Snow Blanket and the children?" she called after him.
"I will get them! Run!" he shouted.
At that moment a man rode through the smoke, lowering a torch to set Tshingee's wigwam on fire. Recognizing the man from Deliverance, Deborah fled. But instead of following the path to the woods, she doubled back, heading for Snow Blanket's wigwam. She had to be certain the elder woman and the children had escaped safely.
Deborah's bare feet pounded on the frozen ground as she raced through the camp, her lungs burning from the acrid smoke. A foot away from her, an arrow sliced through the air. Deborah screamed. Out of the wall of smoke a body pitched forward off a horse, falling lifelessly to the ground. Deborah swung around to see Dame Elene notch another arrow onto his bowstring.
"Uishameheela!" the brave urged. "Run, Red Bird!"
"There she is!" someone shouted in the distance. "There with the Injun!"
Deborah spun around in horror to see Lester Morgan riding straight for her. He lifted his musket and fired. Behind her she heard Dame Elene fall.
"No!" she screamed, covering her ears with her hands.
Lester Morgan rode past her on his horse, catching her by her dress and hauling her off the ground. Deborah struggled, sinking her teeth into his arm. He cursed foully, throwing her roughly over his lap and pinning her down with a massive arm.
"Let me go you son of a bitch!" she screamed. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you," she moaned.
"I got her! I got her!" Lester shouted above the sound of gunshots and bellowing male voices. He pulled up his horse to reload his musket and out of the curtain of smoke stepped Snow Blanket.
"Let her go," the Lenni Lenape woman ordered starkly. In her arms she held a musket, pointed directly at his chest.
Lester threw back his head in laughter. "And if I don't, squaw?"
"You will be dead man."
"No, Snow Blanket," Deborah cried, struggling beneath Lester's hold. "Please, take Bee and Mary and run."
"Too late," Lester murmured, lifting his musket. 'Cause she's already—"
Before the final word slipped from his mouth, Snow Blanket's musket belched a cloud of smoke and Lester's body was blown backward off the horse.
Deborah screamed, falling from the animal. By the time she lifted her head from the ground, Snow Blanket was at her side, helping her to her feet. "You must hurry," Snow Blanket insisted. "Tshingee does not want you here. My son cannot stand to lose you to them again."
"But the children!"
"Mary has gone with Suuklan. Bee, I cannot find him. Can you load this weapon?" Snow Blanket pushed the musket into Deborah's arms.
Deborah took a musket ball and the powder horn from Snow Blanket and began to load the rusty weapon with trembling fingers. "We'll find him together and then we'll go."
Snow Blanket wiped a streak of Lester's blood off Deborah's cheek. "No. I am old. I will face my enemy, but the child you carry is the future of the Wolf Clan."
"How did you know?"
Snow Blanket took the loaded musket from Deborah's hands. "This woman is old, but she is not so old that she does not know the look of a woman who carries a child." Smiling, Snow Blanket pressed her lips to Deborah's cheek and then disappeared into the smoke, shouting a cry of attack.
"Deb-or-ah! Deborah," another voice called from the distance.
"Bee!" Deborah spun around, squinting. The smoke burned her lungs and stung her eyes. "Where are you?"
"Here!" The boy came running in Deborah's direction with a man on horseback in hot pursuit.
It was the Earl.
"Father! No!" Deborah screamed, running toward Bee.
The boy turned and threw a toy war axe at the giant of a man, and the Earl burst into sinister laughter as the miniature weapon bounced harmlessly off his leather coat.
Bee turned to run but he tripped, and the Earl of Manchester rode his horse over the child as he scrambled to escape the steed's massive hooves. Deborah screamed in terror as the Earl wheeled his mount around to make a second pass over the boy.
Bleeding from the mouth and arms, Bee struggled to his feet.
"Here!" Deborah shouted. "Here, Bee!"
The little boy put out his arms to Deborah, tears running down his face as he raced toward her.
His laughter echoing above the sound of the musket roar, the Earl bore down on the child. Bee made a sharp left turn and suddenly the Earl's horse went down. The animal's front legs buckled as it sank into a hole in the earth, throwing its rider.
Bee gave a squeal of delight as the Earl flew through the air, landing in a motionless heap. "My eagle pit!" the little boy shouted. "My eagle pit!"
Deborah felt not even a stirring of remorse as she seized the little boy's hand and led him to where her father lay. The Earl of Manchester's neck was bent at a peculiar angle, his eyes closed in finality.
The sound of musket fire died away. The horses were suddenly gone and the sound of retreating men could be heard in the distance.
"Did you know him?" Bee asked.
Deborah stared at her father then lowered her eyes to meet the little boy's concerned gaze. Bee's face was battered and bloody and across his bare chest were the purpling bruises of hoofprints.
"No," she answered, taking Bee away. "Not really."
Leading Bee through the camp, Deborah stepped over two more bodies, both white men. Although three of the wigwams still burned, it looked as if the attack was over. Lenni Lenape women and children ran through the compound carrying buckets of water. A few older braves stood watch over the villagers, but the young warriors who had survived the attack were pursuing the white men.
Bee released Deborah's hand. "There is Mary and Onna!" he called, running across the smoky compound.
Deborah followed in his footsteps. "Mary! Snow Blanket! Thank God you're all right!" She grabbed Mary and lifted her into her arms. "Have you seen Tshingee, Snow Blanket? I can't find him."
Snow Blanket shook her head, snatching two buckets off the ground. "Not yet." She pushed the containers into the children's hands. "We must hurry and put out the fires."
Deborah set Mary on the ground. "If any of you see Tshingee, tell him I'm looking for him."
Snow Blanket squeezed Deborah's shoulder with a sooty hand then took up her own bucket and hurried off.
Wandering through the camp, Deborah called Tshingee's name over and over again. Braves were returning from the woods where they had followed the white men, but he was not among them either. She walked along the row of injured warriors being cared for near the Big House; he was not there. He was not one of the four dead Lenni Lenape.
Becoming frantic, Deborah circled the perimeter of the camp. Everything was in a state of chaos. Dogs barked and villagers ran to and fro, still attempting to extinguish the fires.
Then she saw him . . . just at the edge of the forest. His back was to her, streaked black with smoke.
"Tshingee!" she cried, running toward him. When he didn't turn around, she called his name again, but still there was no response. Breathless, she ran to his side. "Tshingee! Oh, thank God you're all right! Why didn't you—"
She came to an abrupt halt, staring at the face of the prisoner Tshingee held at gunpoint. "Tom," she whispered.
Tshingee's bloodstained face was grim. His finger rested gently on the trigger of his musket. "The others fled," he stated evenly. "But this white man, he chose to forfeit his life."
Deborah stared at Tom, resting on his knees, his head hung in defeat. "Why in the hell are you here?" she demanded. "You're not a fighting man!"
"The Earl, the others, they came to avenge my father's death. I knew you told the truth when you said these weren't the men who killed him, but the others wouldn't listen."
Tears ran down Tom's smoke-blackened face. "The kitchen girls that were captured by the Indians . . . they told me what had happened. They didn't tell me you were here, but I knew you were." He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. "I came for you, Deborah . . ."
Scalding tears ran down Deborah's cheeks. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Tom. You should have run while you had the chance! Most of the others got away."
He shook his head. "I couldn't leave you here, not with the Earl dead. It's my responsibility to save you."
Deborah squeezed her eyes shut. "Tom, I didn't want to be rescued. This man, Tshingee, is my husband."
Tom drew a shuddering breath. "Your husband?"
"Tom, I'm in love with him. I carry his child."
Fresh tears ran down Tom's cheeks. "Elizabeth tried to convince me not to come . . ."
Deborah turned her gaze on Tshingee. Their dark eyes met, each one trying to read the other's thoughts.
Slowly, the Lenni Lenape brave lowered his musket. He reached out with one hand to caress Deborah's cheek. "Last night you gave me a wedding gift," he said, his voice barely audible. "Today I give you mine." He pointed at Thomas with the barrel of his musket. "I give you this man."
"You give me Tom?" Deborah whispered. "I don't understand."
"It was to this man that you belonged first. His life is yours. You may go with him if you wish." Tshingee lowered his lips to Deborah's, kissing her ever so gently. Then, he swung his musket onto his shoulder and walked away.
For a moment Deborah stood in shock. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She hadn't realized, until this moment, just how deep Tshingee's love for her ran.
Suddenly snapping out of her stupor, Deborah grasped Tom's hand. "For God sakes, get up," she ordered impatiently. "Can't you see he's spared your life? You won't get a second chance!"
"I . . . I can't return without you." Tom stumbled to his feet.
"If you go, you go without me." Her eyes met his. "Tom, if you ever loved me, you'll go home to the Tidewater and marry Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth?"
"She loves you. She'll make the wife I never could have been to you."
"Elizabeth loves me?" he breathed.
"Don't be a goose. Of course she does. Now go on." She nodded in the direction of the forest. "Go home and tell everyone I was killed, but tell Elizabeth that I walk into the sunset of my dreams. She'll know what I mean." Deborah pressed her lips to Tom's quivering ones. "Now go on with you before Tshingee changes his mind and scalps you!"
Tom stood for a moment in indecision, then whirled around and ran.
Deborah watched until he disappeared into the safety of the woods then headed back toward the Lenni Lenape camp.
"Tshingee," she cried. "Tshingee, where are you?" Her bare feet beat across the frozen ground as she raced toward his wigwam.
There, near the smoldering ruins of his home, stood the Wildcat of the Wolf Clan. The sun was just beginning to rise in the eastern sky, and it cast an amber glow of light over his striking bronze face. He stood with his hands at his sides, his ebony hair blowing in the slight breeze.
"Tshingee," she shouted.
He lifted his arms to her and she ran into them, laughing, crying, as he covered her tear-stained face with kisses.
"I love you," she murmured.
"K'daholel," he answered huskily. "I love you, my Red Bird . . ."