Chapter Seventeen
Mackenzie was so afraid as she walked past the empty wigwams that her feet were numb in her new white moccasins. But the drums called, and she walked beside Fire Dancer, her chin high, her back straight.
No one, man or woman, red or white, would call her a coward. In the remote possibility that she would die at the hands of the Shawnee, she knew she had led a good life, better than most. She had a father that cared for her and a man who loved her. No one could take that away from her. Not Laughing Woman, not Fire Dancer's father, the chief, not even the holy Snake Man. If she went to her grave tonight, it would be with the thought that she had truly lived because she had loved.
Not that she would give up without a fight . . .
"You must not speak at the communal fire," Fire Dancer whispered, breaking her reverie. "It is not your place."
"I'm just supposed to stand there and let some snake person hand down my sentence?"
"It must be approved by the chief."
She gripped his arm. She had not met the chief or Fire Dancer's mother yet. "But he would not see me harmed, would he? Because I'm your . . . I'm your woman." She wished she could see into his eyes. They had never defined their relationship. They hadn't had a chance. "I am your woman, right?"
Fire Dancer patted her hand that gripped his arm so tightly. "You are my woman. This man is your man. Sometimes we must allow ourselves to be swept down the path of the unknown. We must trust fate and the great Tapalamawatah. "
She stepped easier beside him. Fire Dancer's woman . She wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but it gave her strength to keep walking.
Ahead a huge campfire blazed. More than a hundred men, women, and children gathered around the circle of bright light. All black eyes were focused on her and Fire Dancer.
Mackenzie sucked in a strangled breath, fighting the sense of panic in her chest. "Fire Dancer wouldn't let me die," she repeated beneath her breath like a chant. "He won't. He loves me."
Fire Dancer released her arm and walked ahead. Mackenzie fell in behind him, sensing her role.
The circle of men and women parted and allowed Fire Dancer and Mackenzie to enter the inner circle. The drums beat in a frenzied crescendo. The men shouted words she didn't understand.
An old man, his face wrinkled by time, stood close to the blazing fire. Two long white braids framed his sunken cheeks and a snake made a stole around his shoulders. Another snake coiled on the ground at the old man's feet, and yet another protruded from a leather bag he wore on his shoulder.
Mackenzie feared she would stumble. It hadn't occurred to her that the man might bring his damned snakes with him.
Fire Dancer caught her eye and made the hand sign for the word snake. She could have sworn she saw a teasing smile on his face.
The gesture was enough to calm her nerves and strengthen her resolve. It was a private joke between them. Only she knew that he had once feared snakes. She made the hand sign at her side in response. He gave a slight nod and returned his attention to the holy man.
The drums stopped and the voices abruptly ceased. No one moved; not a child peeped. There was only silence and the crackling of the fire.
Fire Dancer walked to Snake Man. He nodded in obvious reverence and said something in Shawnee. The old man responded. Next Fire Dancer spoke to the middle-aged woman standing proudly beside the holy man.
Who was she? She seemed too young for Snake Man's wife. Perhaps she was his daughter or his assistant, Mackenzie surmised.
The woman, dressed in a dyed red doeskin dress very similar to the one Mackenzie wore, nodded regally to Fire Dancer, then to Mackenzie.
Mackenzie nodded, but did not smile because the woman did not smile. She wondered where the chief, Fire Dancer's father, was.
Fire Dancer switched to English. "Greetings, oh great chief and holy man of the Shawnee."
Chief? Mackenzie was confused. Snake Man wasn't the chief; he was the holy man. Did that mean that this woman was the chief? How was that possible? A woman? Where was Fire Dancer's father? Mackenzie thought he was the chief.
The old man lifted his jutting chin in Fire Dancer's direction but made no indication he saw Mackenzie.
The woman smiled. It was Fire Dancer's smile.
Mackenzie stared at her. This had to be his mother.
"Greetings, Mack-en-zie of the Brit-ish," the woman said in a loud, capable voice. "I am M shwahwee Wahkochathee , of the turtle clan of the Shawnee. Red Fox in your Ing-lish manake words."
"Greetings, Red Fox," Mackenzie replied, relieved she was able to respond sensibly. "This woman would thank you for your care during my illness."
The old woman's black-eyed gaze did not stray. She watched Mackenzie closely. "It was not I who cared for you, but my son—"
So she was Fire Dancer's mother . . .
" . . . and Laughing Woman," Red Fox finished.
Mackenzie did not break eye contact. "This woman under stands," she responded in the formal Shawnee manner, "but this woman still thanks you. Without your approval, I would think I would not have been permitted to enter the village, and your son would not have been permitted to care for me as well as he has."
A smile tugged on the corner of Red Fox's mouth as her gaze swept from Mackenzie to her son and back to Mackenzie again. "Fire Dancer of the Thunder Sky was right when he spoke of you, Mack-en-zie." The chief raised her hand, dismissing Mackenzie with a turn of her wrist. "Let us begin. Muneto Eelenee. "
Everyone's attention once again focused on the holy man. Mackenzie tried not to look at the snake that slithered at his feet or the one wrapped around his neck that flickered its forked tongue.
The old man barked something in Shawnee.
"Ah." Fire Dancer offered the portrait of himself he carried under his arm.
The holy man took the portrait with shaky hands and leaned it against a large rock at his feet. He produced a bleached white turtle shell rattle from his leather snake bag and shook it, chanting in the ancient language. His sing-song voice rose into the treetops with the wisps of smoke.
Fire Dancer took one step back so that he stood beside Mackenzie.
The old man danced around the snake and the portrait on the ground, with tiny, rehearsed steps. He chanted and shook his rattle. The drums picked up the beat and the Indians clapped.
Mackenzie was overwhelmed by sounds of the Shawnee. She had no idea what the old man was saying. Fire Dancer listened intently.
Mackenzie whispered in Fire Dancer's ear. "What is he saying?"
"Hsst. He tells a story. Silence!"
Mackenzie had a nearly uncontrollable urge to run. She felt as if she was being propelled through the air with no way to govern the speed or destination. She knew that what the old man was saying had something to do with her. She just didn't know what.
The chanting and dancing went on for a few minutes until the music came to a sudden halt. The Indians all raised their fists in a shout and fell silent.
Mackenzie watched Fire Dancer, wishing she could read his thoughts. What was happening?
The Snake Man raised the turtle rattle over his head, gave it one more shake, and spoke rapidly.
Mackenzie had learned a few Shawnee words from Fire Dancer and from Laughing Woman, but Snake Man spoke so rapidly that she had no idea what he was saying.
Fire Dancer pulled his lips back in a taut grimace. "Mahtah. "
Mackenzie spotted movement in the crowd and heard a woman cry out in angst. Laughing Woman bolted from the circle of light, her cheeks wet with tears, and disappeared into the darkness.
Mackenzie wanted to go after her and comfort her. Laughing Woman had been so good to her. Mackenzie knew that she had something to do with Laughing Woman's tears. It had something to do with what the Snake Man had said and what Fire Dancer protested.
Mackenzie whipped back around and faced the holy man. He still chanted in Shawnee. Fire Dancer stood with his legs spread, his arms crossed over his partially bare chest. He set his jaw in anger.
What was the sentence? Were they going to kill her? Was that why Laughing Woman had fled? Was this really funeral attire Mackenzie wore?
Mackenzie stepped forward. She'd not stand quietly behind Fire Dancer while some old man with a snake around his neck issued a death warrant. "What is it?" she demanded of Fire Dancer. When he didn't respond immediately, she grabbed his muscular forearm.
The crowd gasped in unison.
"I said, what the blessed bloody hell is going on here?" Mackenzie shouted. "Does he want to kill me?"
"It is not death he sentences you to," Fire Dancer said, his voice grave. "It is marriage."
Mackenzie felt nothing but numbness. "M . . . marriage? To you?"
Fire Dancer did not meet her gaze. "Ah . Our holy man says that if part of a man's soul must be possessed by a woman, it is best if he be possessed by his wife."
Mackenzie took a stumbling step backward. She heard Fire Dancer's words, yet she couldn't believe them. Surely this snake man couldn't force Fire Dancer to marry her. She was in complete shock . . . but at the same time she felt a crushing sense of disappointment. Fire Dancer was agitated. He obviously didn't want to marry her.
"I . . . I won't marry him," Mackenzie said. She took a step back from the holy man and Red Fox. If Fire Dancer didn't want to marry her, she certainly wasn't going to marry him. "You can't make me. I . . . I'm a Christian." All she could think of was that she wanted to turn and run. Run and keep running. "I'm a citizen of the British empire. I . . . I have rights."
Fire Dancer grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him. "Silence. I told you, you must not speak. This holy man has the right to issue a death warrant. Don't you understand?" His black-eyed gaze met hers and the look in his eyes told her he was serious. She really could have died.
"Fire Dancer," she whispered. "This . . . this isn't what you want, is it? You don't really want me to be your wife."
"This man—"
A man's loud voice interrupted Fire Dancer. "Muneto Eekwaiwah!" Okonsa broke away from the circle of men and women. He said something else in Shawnee.
Mackenzie, in confusion, looked to Fire Dancer for interpretation.
"Okonsa says he protests the marriage," Fire Dancer whispered. He still held her tightly against him. "He says we cannot force you to marry me. He says it will only cause more trouble between the Shawnee and the British."
Snake Man barked something at Okonsa.
Red Fox chimed in.
Okonsa answered in short, abrupt sentences.
Red Fox spoke again, and Okonsa lowered his gaze.
Fire Dancer glanced at Mackenzie. She shook with a mixture of fear, anger, anguish. "What? What's going on?"
"Our mother tells Okonsa to be silent. He may not interfere. My mother declares this a spiritual matter rather than a political one. It is not the village's decision, it is Snake Man's."
Snake Man picked up his snake from the ground, draped it around his neck, and wobbled away.
The crowd broke up and the men and women began to mill about. They all spoke at once in their native tongue.
Mackenzie stared in skepticism as the old man wandered off into the darkness, muttering to himself. "That's it," she whispered. "No discussion?"
Fire Dancer released her arm. "It would be so bad to become this man's wife?"
She could have sworn she heard distress in his tone. "Well, no . . . Yes . . . I . . ." She didn't know what to say. He'd caught her completely off guard. A moment ago he acted as if he didn't want to marry her and now . . . "Fire Dancer . . ." She gazed into his black eyes. "This should be between you and me. They can't force me to marry you or anyone else."
"No? Is that not what your people do all the time? You wed off your daughters to men they have never met? Men who will never love them and care for them?"
Mackenzie was so rattled by Snake Man's edict that she couldn't think clearly. She was making such a mess of everything. "That . . . that's different."
He lifted a haughty black eyebrow. He was angry with her, and she didn't know why.
"How?" he demanded.
"Colonial women are married off to colonial men, not—"
"Savages?" he cut in.
She had hurt his feelings and she didn't mean to. "Fire Dancer—"
"Greeting, daughter to be," Red Fox interrupted. She smiled proudly as if her son had just been betrothed to the king's daughter. "It will be good to have you as a daughter. Better that you will make this woman a grandmother again. My grandson, Tall Moccasin, grows to be such a man that he does not have time for old women."
Mackenzie didn't know how to respond. She hadn't expected Red Fox to be pleased by the thought of her son marrying a white woman. "Th . . . thank you. I . . . I didn't realize that you were chief. Fire Dancer didn't tell me. I thought he meant that his father was chief."
"His father, chief?" She tipped back her head and laughed. "He-Whose-Name-Cannot-Be-Spoken was a good man but not a chief man." She touched Mackenzie's sleeve. "Come to this woman's wigwam tomorrow. We will speak. This woman would like to know the woman who will make her son happy." With a smile, Red Fox walked off.
Mackenzie faced Fire Dancer. She felt like she was hurling through space again. "Can't we talk about this?"
He took her arm, none-too-gently. "The holy man has spoken. You will have to accept your marriage to this savage. "
She shoved his arm away angrily. "I never said that. I love you."
The walked through the village, past wigwams. Some of the Shawnee watched them with interest.
He stared straight ahead and spoke softly in English. "But you do not want to marry me?"
"I . . ." She exhaled. He acted like he didn't want to marry her, and yet, he seemed hurt by the idea that she might not want to marry him. The man made no sense. "I don't know what I want. Don't you understand?"
He raised the doorflap to his wigwam for her. "This man is trying to understand."
She ducked in and he followed. He lit an oil lamp. It glowed softly, casting shadows across his face. A cricket chirped under the bed.
She stood in the center of the wigwam, her arms wrapped around her waist. "I need some time to think about this." Her head was so full of thoughts, her chest so tight with emotions that she had a difficult time finding anything to say that made sense.
"The shaman can't just tell me to marry you. You . . . you didn't even ask me. And—" she lifted her hand weakly "—what about Laughing Woman?" She dropped it to her hip. "The idea of you marrying me obviously upset her. Why?"
He crouched at the firepit and fed the red coals slivers of wood. "This man probably would have married her."
He said it so calmly that for a moment she stared at him in disbelief. "What? She was your betrothed?" she sputtered.
"Mahtah . It was not official, but everyone knew we would probably wed."
"Including Laughing Woman?"
"Ah."
Mackenzie paced. She fought twinges of jealousy, but mostly she felt badly for Laughing Woman. The woman had been so kind to Mackenzie. Surely she suspected what was between Mackenzie and Fire Dancer. When she walked into his wigwam earlier, there must have been no doubt. Mackenzie felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. She had stolen another woman's man.
"Why didn't you tell me back at the fort?" Mackenzie demanded angrily. The anger gave her something to hold onto. It made it easier for her to keep her thoughts rational.
"Would it have mattered?" He stood. "Would you have loved this man any less because he was promised to another?"
"I'd never have let myself fall in love with you!" she shouted. Unwelcome tears sprung in her eyes. "I hate you." She grabbed her hairbrush off the sleeping platform. "I hate you for what you've done to me."
He walked to the door.
She hurled the brush at him. "I wish I'd never laid eyes on you."
The brush glanced off his back, and he left the wigwam without another word.
Mackenzie regretted her foolish reaction immediately. She dropped to her knees and buried her arms and face in the furs piled on the sleep platform. Tears welled up in great sobs. No one had ever told her it would be so hard to love someone so deeply.
Fire Dancer stepped out of his wigwam and crouched outside the door, lowering his head to his hands. He was so frustrated by his own turmoil that he didn't know how to deal with Mackenzie's. He knew she loved him as surely as he knew the hairbrush had been flung in fear and anger. But the fact that she hadn't immediately consented to marrying him still hurt.
She didn't want to marry. She said she loved him . . . but not enough to love him forever?
Fire Dancer felt like a fool. Here he was, a Shawnee prince, a warrior, a man who would be chief someday, and he was nearly in tears over a woman. He loved her so much. He didn't like the idea of being told to wed, either, but if a man had to wed, why not wed the woman of his passions? Secretly, perhaps, he had hoped for this sentence all along. Then the decision could be made for him.
But Mackenzie didn't want him—not enough to join him and his life. Did he love her enough to leave his people? It wasn't that simple. He could not leave the Shawnee now. The war was escalating. The Shawnee council was about to choose sides between the French and the British. His mother's people needed him. He could not abandon them, not even for love.
Fire Dancer stood and exhaled slowly. He drew a cleansing breath. Snake Man had spoken. He would marry the fire-haired white woman. It was the only way to keep his soul intact. Mackenzie would come around. He had only to give her time to accept him as her husband. Who else was there for her? She had said herself that she had never loved a man as she loved him. Certainly she had not loved the towheaded Josh Watkins.
But she had loved her father . . .
Fire Dancer stared up into the dark sky. Why hadn't he told her when she'd awakened last night that her father was dead? Why hadn't he told her this evening when he went to his wigwam to tell her?
Because he didn't want hurt her. Because he wanted her to grow strong. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to love him. She would hate him if she knew he was responsible for her father's death. What chance would they have at a good marriage then? Fire Dancer understood the anger she felt for him at this moment. He could deal with her anger. But hate? Could he survive her hatred or would his heart shrink in his chest? Would he perish?
With a heavy heart, Fire Dancer strode through the village. Most of the men and women had retired for the evening. A few gathered at the home firepits for a last smoke of a pipe, or to talk of the day's events. He spoke to no one as he walked, his gazed fixed on a wigwam near the far side of the village. If there was to be any hope for this marriage Snake Man had commanded, there was someone he had to speak with first.
Fire Dancer halted at the wigwam Laughing Woman and her children shared with Mary. Before he had a chance to speak, a soft voice came from inside.
"This woman wondered how long it would be before you came."
Fire Dancer stepped inside the open door. "I must speak with you, Laughing Woman."
She smiled. "I know. Let me say good night to my babies and then I will serve you drink at my hearth."
Fire Dancer stood in the shadows and watched as Laughing Woman knelt at a sleeping platform. She spoke gently to her toddlers, covering them with a sleeping fur. She kissed each one and wished them happy dreams.
Fire Dancer felt a sense of sadness. Laughing Woman would have a made a good wife. She would have been a good mother to their children. She was a good mother. He wished desperately that he had felt passion for her. If he had, he would have married her before he left for the peace negotiations at Belvadere. But there, again, was that path of fate Snake Man had spoken of. It was clear that the marriage between them had never been meant to be. Her children tucked into bed, Laughing Woman crossed the wigwam. She placed her hand gently on his arm. "Let us go outside, friend. My sassafras tea seeps for us."
Outside, at her firepit, Laughing Woman had already set out two gourd cups. A clay pot of tea rested on a rock near the coals where it would stay warm.
He watched her. She was so beautiful, so exquisite with her thick ropes of black braids and proper black eyes. But they were not blue. And they were not Mack-en-zie's . . . and they did not make his heart sing. "You did expect me, didn't you," he asked.
"Ah." She sat cross-legged on a grass mat. "Sit, rest, Fire Dancer. It has been a long day for you." She poured him a cup of tea. "You know it is not necessary that you come here."
He accepted the cup. "But it is. I came to apologize."
"It is this woman who should apologize. I should not have made a spectacle of myself at the communal fire tonight. I should not have dishonored you or myself by acting like a foolish maiden."
"That was my fault, not yours. The holy man's words took you by surprise." He took a sip, choosing his words carefully. "Before I left, there was an understanding between you and me, Laughing Woman."
"Or at least between your mother and my grandfather, eh?" She laughed.
He smiled, pleased that she could find humor in their situation. He certainly couldn't. "Ah'." His drew his lips down in a frown. "But this man led you to believe he would wed you. I led you to believe I would care for you and your children." He raised his chin so that his gaze met hers across the campfire. "This man honestly intended to do so."
"But then you met the white woman with hair the color of flame."
He glanced away. "I met her and I did not use the common sense my mother gave me. I could not resist my attraction to her, though she was forbidden. And as my punishment, she now possesses a part of my soul I cannot regain."
She stared over the rim of her cup. "You truly believe that?"
"Ah ' . It is true. When I am away from her, I cannot think. I do not feel like myself. We are so different, and yet I am only whole at her side." He shook his head. "It is a terrible thing."
Laughing Woman smiled as if she was an old woman of great wisdom. "Ah' , love is." She reached across the campfire and took his cup from him. "Now go. Return to your woman and be whole. Do not worry for this woman. I can care for myself."
He rose. "This man is truly sorry for what pain he has caused you."
She didn't get up. "This woman would have married you because you are a good man, Fire Dancer, and you would have been a good father to my children. But I would never have loved you as this woman loved her husband, so it is better this way, I think."
Her smile was infectious. He felt better. He had come here to comfort Laughing Woman, and instead she had comforted him. "Good night," he said as he walked away.
"Good night," she called. "But you go the wrong way, Fire Dancer. Your wigwam is that way." She pointed.
He turned back to her. "This man will spend the night with his brother and allow the white woman to calm her anger. Besides, I have much to do. It is just come to me that I must give her a peace offering and I know what it must be."
Laughing Woman waved and Fire Dancer walked off in the direction of Okonsa's wigwam. For the first time in many weeks, he felt a bright sense of hope in his heart.