Chapter Fourteen
Mackenzie lay perfectly still on the sleeping mat and stared up at the woven baskets and strings of herbs that hung over her head. It was dark, except for the glow of light from a fire pit.
Where am I? she wondered, her mind still fuzzy. Then she remembered. With Fire Dancer. He kidnapped me and brought me here .
But where was here?
She studied the dome roof with its sapling rafters and cornhusk shingles. It was some kind of hut. In the center of the roof moonlight shone through a hole that allowed smoke from the firepit to escape.
This had to be the Shawnee's living quarters. Fire Dancer said he'd brought her to his village. Was this his own personal home? Was she sleeping in his bed?
Mackenzie pushed up on her elbows. Her head still hurt, but the sharp, blinding pain had receded to a dull ache. She took a deep breath, waiting for the dizziness to pass. She could feel her pulse pounding in her temples, but she needed to get up and stretch. Her muscles ached from lying so long in one position. A fortnight, Fire Dancer had said. Two entire weeks gone from her life. That was hard to believe.
She swung her legs over the side of the sleeping platform and perched on the edge. As she waited for the next wave of dizziness to pass, she studied her surroundings. The bed was made of smoothed pine logs with a leather pad that acted like a hammock. Assorted furs softened the sleeping platform even more.
Despite the crudeness of the circular hut, it had a safe, comfortable feel about it. It was cool and airy inside, not hot and stuffy like her room in the fort. She dug in her memory for the word Fire Dancer had used when he'd told her of his village and the homes they lived in. Wigwam , that was the word. This was a wigwam.
There was no furniture, just the baskets of dried foods hanging from the rafters, and larger baskets lining the walls. It was difficult to see in the semi-darkness what was inside the floor baskets, but it looked like some held furs and leathers, while others contained dried corn and tubers. Clean, dry mats woven of grass covered the floor. Near the firepit there were flat rocks, used for cooking, no doubt. Near the door she spotted something on the floor. A blanket? She rose slowly from the sleeping platform.
It moved. Definitely not a blanket. A person?
Standing, she felt as if the floor was rushing up beneath her. She grabbed one of the ceiling supports to steady herself. "Fire Dancer, is . . . is that you?"
He was on his feet quickly. "Mack-en-zie, you should not be up." He crossed the wigwam, which could not have been more than ten feet across from the door to the sleeping platform.
His hand felt cool and reassuring in hers. She held onto it, still feeling shaky . . . and afraid. She had nothing to cling to in this strange place but her own inner strength . . . and him. "I . . . I wanted to get a drink and . . ." She was embarrassed to say she needed to relieve herself. "I wanted to go out."
Still holding her hand, he put his arm around her waist and walked with her toward the door. "I will take you as far as the edge of the woods line."
She was thankful he understood her meaning. "That would be good. Thank you." She looked up at him shyly. "And thank you for taking care of me. I didn't want you to think that I wasn't glad you helped me. I mean you took me from the fort, but—"
"This man understands. We are both filled with emotions that tug us from two sides."
Outside, she and Fire Dancer walked between wigwams that all looked exactly the same—dome-shaped with holes cut in the eastern side for doors. Not a soul was about. From the position of the moon, she guessed it was around three o'clock in the morning. A cool breeze blew, chilling her. Somewhere an infant cried, but only for a second before he was hushed by a mother's arms.
Fire Dancer ran his hand up and down her bare arm in a soothing motion. "I want you to believe my words when I say this is as difficult for me as it is for you, Mack-en-zie."
When he brushed her arm, she realized it was bare. She looked down to see that her English clothes were gone. She was barefoot and wore nothing but a soft leather, sleeveless sheath. Delicate sea shells were sewn into the edging of the V-neck. The garment was unbelievably comfortable, like wearing nothing but her shift. She smiled to herself in the darkness. If only her father could see her now.
Her father .
Too wobbly to walk unassisted, she held tightly to Fire Dancer's hand. Surely her father was going mad with worry about her. She glanced at Fire Dancer's face. As usual, she could read no emotions there. She had to know about her father. About the fort. She had to know what Fire Dancer intended to do with her now that she was going to recover from the gunshot.
He stopped at the edge of the clearing where the wigwams stood and pointed into the trees. "There is a small path that leads into the woods for pri-va-cy."
"I'll be right back." She touched his bare forearm and felt a trill of excitement in her chest. It was the same excitement she had felt the night they'd made love. She lowered her hand and walked away. I guess I am feeling better , she thought grimly.
She walked just out of his sight, did what she had to, and then hurried back toward the clearing where Fire Dancer waited patiently.
"You are all right, Mack-en-zie. You are not too tired to walk back?"
She laughed shakily, accepting the support of his arm. "No. I'm fine." Actually, she was feeling better. The fresh air had cleared her head. Most of the dizziness was gone and she was ravenously hungry.
She walked beside him trying to think of some way to broach the subject of her father. Finally, she just blurted it out. "Fire Dancer, I need to send a message to my father. To . . . to let him know I'm all right. That I'm with you."
"I cannot allow you to do that. The soldiers must not know where the village is. They would follow the messenger. They would attack our village in retaliation for the attack on the fort."
The coolness in his tone surprised her. "But I thought you said it was Hurons."
"Ah . But you know it does not matter to the British army . . . or to the French. We are all the same to them. The Frenchmen will be looking for us, as well, because of DuBois."
She hugged herself against a sudden chill. "But that's so unfair."
He chuckled.
She grimaced at her own silliness. Of course, it was unfair. She'd spent enough time in the fort to know that the Indians were treated unfairly. "Anyway," she went on. "You can't keep me here. Not against my will."
She ducked her head and stepped inside as he lifted the leather flap of his wigwam.
"You forget, Mack-en-zie, that you brought this upon yourself. You painted this man's image against his will. I told you, you could not do it."
She walked across the floor mats to the sleeping platform and sat down, trying to keep her temper. She was a stranger in a strange place. Fire Dancer was her only ally . . . and perhaps her enemy as well. "I understand that you're angry with me, but—"
"You do not understand." His voice was sharp as he strode to the fire pit and lit a blade of dry grass. He lit a lantern that hung from the rafters.
Mackenzie lowered her gaze to her folded hands. Her head was beginning to hurt again. "I said I was sorry," she said through clenched teeth.
"It does not solve my problem, Mack-en-zie." He brought her a gourd ladle of water.
She was tempted to refuse it. He had no right to kidnap her. He had no right to keep her from her father. That she cared for him so much made it hard, though. Nothing was cut and dried. She didn't want to be here . . . but she did. A part of her wanted to be with him, even if that meant being away from her father. Yet she didn't want to be here against her will. She would not remain here.
She felt guilty for painting the picture. He was right. She was wrong. Even if she didn't understand his reasons for not wanting his portrait painted, she should have respected his wishes. But was punishment really necessary? Obviously, she still didn't understand the Shawnee.
"So just how can we solve your problem?" she asked, camouflaging her fear with anger. She snatched the gourd ladle from his hand and a little water spilled onto her bare leg. "I assume we're speaking of this problem of my possessing your soul."
He walked away from her. "You make light of that which you do not understand."
"You're right." She sipped the water. "I don't understand. Englishmen have been painting portraits for hundreds of years." She glanced up at him. "You think all those people are missing parts of their souls?"
"This man cannot speak for the English. Nothing about the English manake makes sense to me. All I know is what my mother taught me and what her mother taught her." He placed his closed fist over his heart. "I know that you should not have taken that part of me."
Finished with the water, she tossed the ladle into the bucket that stood against the wall. She noticed that the portrait of him hung from one of the rafters. The frame was broken, but the canvas was in good condition. She was tempted to take the damned thing down and toss it onto the glowing coals in the firepit.
"How do we solve this so I can go home?" Her voice was beginning to sound hoarse. Her head was pounding harder. She didn't want to fight with Fire Dancer. She wanted him to hold her. To comfort her.
He pushed a little wooden bowl into her hands. "This man does not know. That is part of the reason I brought you here. Our shaman, Snake Man, understands matters of the soul. I have already spoken to him. He will tell me what must be done." He tapped the rim of the bowl. "Eat. It will give you strength."
She tasted a little of the crumbly stuff. It was sweetened with dried berries and they were delicious. "Shaman? What is that?"
He thought before he answered. "He is a holy man. A man who stands between us and the spiritual world. He has been gifted by Tapalamawatah —God. He guides my people in that which they do not understand."
She gave a small, humorless laugh. "And this man is going to tell you what to do with me?" She could feel that sense of fear creeping up on her again. "Like . . . like what?"
"Let us not speak of this again tonight. Eat. Then sleep. I will stay with you the night, Mack-en-zie."
She didn't like the way he looked at her. For once she could read his emotions and it scared her.
Fire Dancer was afraid.
She set down the bowl, rose and walked to him. He stood stoic, his gaze locked with hers. She lifted her hands and rested them on his broad, bare shoulders. "Fire Dancer . . . he . . . he wouldn't hurt me, would he? I mean you . . . your people, they don't do sacrifices like the Powhatan, do they? Harry told me the Powhatan Indians in Virginia Colony murder people for religious reasons." She searched his gaze. "Tell me, you wouldn't let anyone hurt me."
In his eyes she could see that he was torn. She knew he loved the Shawnee. "Mack-en-zie, heart of my heart. This man does not know what solution the Snake Man will offer." He pulled her tighter against his chest as if he thought he could hug her hard enough to make her a part of him. "This man has agreed to what Snake Man says."
Mackenzie rested her head on his shoulder, fighting tears. It felt so good to be held by him. She was so confused by her feelings for the man. The night they had made love she had known she loved him, that she had always loved him in her heart of hearts. Then he had taken her from the fort and from her father. He accused her of heinous crimes she didn't understand. Now he was allowing some old medicine man to determine her fate. She should hate Fire Dancer for what he was doing to her. So why didn't she?
Mackenzie buried her face in his silky, black hair that smelled of the pine forest.
She shook her head, still trying to comprehend what was happening. "I don't understand. How can you agree to something when you don't know what it is?"
"Mack-en-zie. It is not my life nor even yours that this man must think of. Our chief reminded me of my responsibilities to my people. Not just to my village, but to all Shawnee. I am what you would call "prince". Some day I will become chief of my village, leader of my clan."
Her lower lip trembled. "You won't let them hurt me. You won't let them kill me," she said fiercely. "No matter what you say now, I know in my heart you wouldn't let them." She leaned back to meet his gaze. "I wouldn't let anyone harm you. No matter what I had to do."
He smoothed her hair and she rested her cheek on his bare chest where she could hear his heartbeat.
"Let us wait and see what the Snake Man says, Mack-enzie." He kissed her forehead. "Now you must sleep. You must be strong for whatever tomorrow will bring."
Mackenzie's head was so full of thoughts that nothing made sense. Fire Dancer was right. She needed sleep. She was in no immediate danger. What she had to do was rest and prepare herself for whatever might come . . . whatever she might have to do to get away from here. Of course to flee meant leaving Fire Dancer . . . forever.
Mackenzie bit down on her lowering lip, fighting waves of desperation. What frightened her most was that her fear of losing Fire Dancer was greater than her fear of whatever sentence Snake Man might decree.
She smoothed his cheek with her palm. "Will you sleep with me? Hold me, Fire Dancer?"
He took her hand and led her to the sleeping platform. "Among my people a man does not sleep the night with a woman unless they have made their commitment before the great God and all his people." He slid into the bed and put out his arms for her. "But tonight I will hold you, kitehi."
She climbed onto the narrow bed beside him and pressed her back to him, allowing him to curl his arm around her waist. "Wed, you mean?" She gave a little laugh. The thought was ridiculous, an impossibility . . . wasn't it? She closed her eyes and was asleep before Fire Dancer had formed a reply.
Fire Dancer rose at dawn and spoke his prayers to the rising sun as he did each day. Afterward, he gathered a few supplies from his wigwam and went outside to prepare a meal for Mackenzie. He knew she would be hungry when she woke.
Fire Dancer started a fire in front of his wigwam and fetched water to boil for corn mush. A cool, fall breeze blew a cleansing breath over the Shawnee wigwams. The village began to stir. Women walked back and forth from the stream retrieving water. Men checked the horses. Some prepared for an early morning hunting trip. Other men sat outside their wigwams and conversed with their wives, taking a quiet moment for themselves before their children rose.
It felt so good to Fire Dancer to be home. He had missed the smell of corn cakes baking on hot rocks. He'd missed the laughter of the young maidens, and the comforting wisdom of the older men and women.
"Good morning, brother,"
Fire Dancer glanced up to see Okonsa, dressed for the forest, with several weapons tied on his belt. "Good morning, n thathah." He spoke in the tongue of their ancestors. "I see you go scouting this day."
"Ah . This man has volunteered for extra duty." Okonsa adjusted his nose ring. "Since our return from the fort with the white woman, our own women have feared the British manake will find us and massacre us in our sleep. Our chief has doubled the patrols."
Fire Dancer didn't like his reference to Mackenzie. The tension between the Shawnee and the French and British had been increasing for months. Mackenzie was not solely responsible for the villagers' fear.
He pulled an ear of corn from a basket and began to shuck it. "This man brought the woman here because he had to. You agreed with me. Remember?"
Okonsa's manner changed abruptly, his accusing tone gone in the flutter of a sparrow's wings. "I make no accusation, brother," he said innocently, touching his chest with a closed fist. "You were right to bring her here, so that Snake Man could tell you what to do. Only a holy man could know the strength of her power over you."
"Ah , you speak the truth." Fire Dancer reached for another ear of corn, feeling guilty that he had been so quick to jump to the conclusion that Okonsa was against him. Ever since their return from the fort, he had been supportive. Fire Dancer liked to think that the change in the Shawnee's political situation had matured Okonsa. Okonsa seemed to be making an honest attempt to find his place among their people.
"I have defended your decision to the others," Okonsa continued. "I go scouting to help you. To protect you and the others I love."
"This man is grateful for you, brother, and for your friendship these days." Fire Dancer smiled. "I say this honestly."
Okonsa scuffed his moccasin in the dry dirt. "Our sister tells me the fire-haired woman is awake. She says Snake Man will give you his decision tonight. Is this true or merely women's gossip?"
"Our sister speaks the truth." Fire Dancer shelled another ear of corn. "The entire village will gather tonight at the communal fire to hear the holy man's words."
Okonsa nodded. "Give Mack-en-zie this man's good wishes. Tell her I am pleased she is alive and well."
Fire Dancer smiled genuinely. "Thank you. I will."
Okonsa imitated a salute. "This man goes. I will see you tonight at the great campfire, brother. I will be there for you."
"Tread carefully and safely." Fire Dancer waved a goodbye and watched his cousin stride away.
Okonsa's new attitude gave Fire Dancer hope for his cousin's future. Okonsa had been of a concern to him ever since they had reached adulthood. Okonsa had never seemed to fully recover from his parents' murders. Maybe he had finally accepted the path of his fate and theirs.
A short time later Fire Dancer heard his name spoken again. He glanced up from the corn kernels he ground. "Gentle Bear." He grinned. He had not had much time to spend with his good friend since his return to the village. Bear had been his best friend since they were children. "It is good to see you."
"Good to see you, n thatha." Gentle Bear squatted across the firepit from Fire Dancer and lowered his massive body onto a grass mat. "This man had hoped he could find you alone."
"You want to speak?" Fire Dancer gestured. "My hearth is open. This man has always been here for you. Speak.
"It is not me I have concern for, friend. It is you. Laughing Woman tells me the white woman you took captive will live."
Fire Dancer poured ground corn into a gourd mixing bowl. "I did not exactly take her captive."
"No? She came of free will, shot through the head?" Gentle Bear raised a bushy eyebrow. "Hmmph. She is a strong woman, indeed."
"You do not know the circumstances. I am sorry I have not had time to talk with you."
"No. I only hear what Okonsa says, and you and I both know he is not to be believed. What I do know is that you brought a white woman to our village and she sleeps in your wigwam with you. You understand, friend, that some women are willing to share a husband, but Laughing Woman is not. I only speak these words because this man is concerned for what would be best for you and our people."
Fire Dancer sighed as he twisted the stone pestle and ground more corn on the mortar between his feet. "I have not spoken to Laughing Woman on this matter."
"She cared for the white woman for you, not for the white woman."
"Laughing Woman is a good soul. This man has always known he could count on her friendship."
"I think it is more than friendship she feels for you. She will be hurt by your relationship with the white woman with the flaming hair—whatever that relationship is . . ."
Fire Dancer glanced away, trying to keep his emotions in check. Only with Gentle Bear could he share his vulnerability. It had always been that way, since they were boys. "I did not mean to fall in love with a white woman, Cub." He used his affectionate name for his friend, a name that had caused many a busted lip in their early years. "By the time I realized I was under her spell, it was too late."
"Love is not an emotion we have control over, Fire Dancer." He picked up a handful of dirt and filtered it through his fingers. "And what is done is done and cannot be changed. Who is to say what is fate? Perhaps you were never meant to marry Laughing Woman. Perhaps this white woman is your true mate. Marry her and make her one of us."
"The chief would never approve, even if I so wished such a union."
Gentle Bear held up a meaty finger. "Ah, but the mother. How would she feel about her son finally taking a wife and giving her grandchildren?"
Fire Dancer ground the corn kernels faster. He did not want to consider impossibilities. Of course, he couldn't marry Mackenzie. Shawnee princes did not marry white women. He would not allow himself to daydream of that which could never be. "Do we have to talk of this now? This man has more pressing concerns than finding a suitable wife."
Gentle Bear tossed a piece of firewood onto the fire. "Ah , the likeness the white woman painted. Little Weaver told me. They say the Snake Man will make a decision on the proper form of reprisal. Perhaps you will not have to make the choice between women. Perhaps it will be done for you."
Fire Dancer dumped more ground corn into the mixing bowl. "It is not just my own trouble that concerns me." He pounded the stone pestle harder. "After the Huron attack on the French delegate and then the fort, I fear the entire village is in danger. I feel at least partially responsible. And . . ." He paused. "And there is the matter of Okonsa."
"Ah , Okonsa." Gentle Bear nodded. He and Okonsa were as much enemies as he and Fire Dancer were friends. "What of Okonsa? He has been pleasant since his return. Helpful. So friendly it scares this man."
"He seems to be trying to fit in, to take responsibility, doesn't he?"
"What is your concern? Perhaps a man can change." Gentle Bear shrugged his massive shoulders. "It is hard for this man to believe Okonsa could change, but stranger things have happened in this forest, no?"
Fire Dancer chose to ignore his last remark. "The circumstances of the attack on the Frenchman DuBois were suspicious, as was the attack on the British fort. Okonsa was gone when the Frenchman was ambushed. He appeared as if by magic when the Hurons attacked the fort. I am suspicious and yet I feel guilty for my suspicion. Okonsa has done wrong things in the past, but he has never threatened such harm to our people. I cannot believe he would do such a deed."
Gentle Bear took his time to answer. "It is a serious accusation to say you think your cousin might have played some part in the attacks. You were sent as peace negotiators. If Okonsa was a part of the attack, it would be the same as an attack upon his own people."
"Ah," Fire Dancer said. "This is why I am hesitant to speak with Okonsa about what happened . . . or to speak to anyone else. I think I am better to watch him and wait. A poison snake always shows his fangs eventually, does he not?"
Gentle Bear rose. "He does. You are wise to wait and watch, friend. And I will watch as well. Who knows? Perhaps he is innocent. This man must go see to his wife and son, but we will speak later, friend."
"Later, Cub."
"And Fire Dancer . . ."
Fire Dancer glanced up. "Ah?"
"I think you can stop grinding now. You have enough cornmeal there to make mush for the entire village."
Fire Dancer frowned into the mixing bowl. He'd been so intent on the conversation that he hadn't paid attention to what he was doing. The bowl was filled to overflowing.
Gentle Bear burst into laughter and walked away.
Fire Dancer had the good sense to laugh with him.