Chapter Twenty-One
Mackenzie rested her head in the crook of Fire Dancer's arm, relaxing in the afterglow of their lovemaking. He had been gone three days on a scouting trip for the French and she'd missed him dearly. Lately she'd been so emotional. Anything could bring a tear to her eyes. She had cried buckets over Mary's miscarriage.
Mackenzie had done nothing but worry over Fire Dancer since the moment he'd left the village. It didn't matter that he was only scouting, and he was not supposed to engage with the enemy even if he saw them. She was so afraid he would be injured or killed should there be fighting. It had been one thing for her to reason that she could not be upset with him for joining his village on the side of the French, but now that it was a reality, she was having a difficult time dealing with it.
Mackenzie rolled onto her side and snuggled against Fire Dancer, her back to him. The wind blew outside, howling at the eaves of the wigwam, but inside a birchwood fire blazed, keeping the room warm and snug. "Did you run into any Englishman on your patrol?" she asked, trying to sound casual. She still hoped she could somehow get a message to her father, just so that he would know she was safe.
"I did not," he answered sleepily.
"But if you did . . . meet someone." She traced an imaginary line along his forearm. "Would there be any way you could send a message to my father at Fort Belvadere so he knows I'm alive?"
"You know this man cannot contact the English Fort. If the French knew, we could all be murdered as traitors."
She breathed wistfully. "I know. I just feel so guilty. I sleep here warm and safe in my husband's arms and my father thinks I've been kidnapped or killed."
He kissed her bare shoulder. "Do not worry for your father, Mack-en-zie. He knows that you are well cared for and that you are happy."
"He knows?" She rolled over to face him. "You contacted him? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I did not con-tact him, but he knows."
She wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't make any sense. More Shawnee magic?"
He touched his bare chest above his left nipple. "Heart magic. He knows here."
She sighed and rolled back onto her side. "I wish I could believe you were right," she whispered, snuggling down again.
"I am. Sleep, wife." He pulled her tighter against his chest and cupped her breast.
"Careful." She placed her hand over his. "They're tender."
"Tender?" He kissed her neck. "This man is sorry. Perhaps you should see Laughing Woman for an herb tea. As the granddaughter of a Shaman, she has a way with medicines."
"I'll be all right. I must have bruised myself or something silly like that." She closed her eyes.
Mackenzie loved this time at night just before they both fell asleep. No mattered how tired he was, or how concerned he was about the war, Fire Dancer always held her in his arms. Often, they made love as they had tonight, but sometimes he just held her close. He never fell asleep before telling her first that he loved her. It had become their ritual.
"Mack-en-zie." His voice was as cozy as their bearskin blanket.
"Fire Dancer?"
"This man loves you."
"How much?" she whispered as she always did.
"As the moon loves the stars."
Mackenzie felt his body relax against her as he drifted off to sleep. She couldn't help thinking about what a good life she had found here among the Shawnee, even if it was bittersweet. She knew she might not ever see her father again. But perhaps if not for the sadness, Mackenzie wouldn't be able to fully appreciate the joy.
By the flickering light of the firepit, she studied her draped easel. She had painted two village scenes and was working on a third. Secretly she had begun a new project. It would be a surprise for Fire Dancer.
Mackenzie closed her eyes. Fire Dancer's breathing was deep and rhythmic. She wondered how she had ever slept without the sound of his breathing, the feel of his naked body pressed against hers. If only these moments could last forever.
Josh lowered his head against the driving wind and pulled his wool hat down further over his ears. His hands were so numb that he could barely feel the leather reins in his hands.
He walked his horse because the terrain was too rough, the forest too dense. Of course that was nothing new. He'd spent most of the last six weeks leading his mount through the woods.
"We head right at the pass," Robert Red Shirt called over his shoulder, his voice carried on the wind.
Josh glanced up. It had begun to flurry. Snowflakes danced in the dreary sky and stung his eyes. He nodded.
Robert had been an excellent choice for a companion on this trek. A man of all trades, he worked as a guide, a trapper and a trader. He was friendly and personable. He knew the woods of Penn's colony well and knew the inhabitants even better. Hiring the half-breed hadn't been cheap, but Josh reckoned he was worth every shilling. In six weeks, they'd visited more than a dozen Indian villages in the vicinity of Fort Belvadere. Some were Shawnee, others Delaware, and even a few Iroquois that had strayed south.
Some of the Indians were British allies, some French allies, others neutral, but they all welcomed Robert into their lodges. They fed him and Josh, gave them a warm place to sleep and traded for supplies. The only thing they refused to supply was information. Oh, everyone had heard of the Shawnee called Fire Dancer. He had an honorable reputation. Apparently, he was a sort of hero. Everyone had met him, knew him, but oddly, no one knew where his village lay. One brave who admitted he'd been to the village, couldn't recall its location, even when Robert cornered him with a knife.
The redskins were a tight-lipped bunch. Everyone considered everyone else their "cousins", even when they weren't from the same tribe. Josh felt like he was hitting brick wall after brick wall. No one knew anything of a white captive with red hair. Major Albertson's words kept echoing in his head. He said Mackenzie was long dead by now. Killed by Josh's own musket, perhaps? No, he couldn't believe it. He wouldn't. Mackenzie was alive.
Josh didn't blame the major for not sending out any soldiers after those initial sweeps of the area. Albertson had a duty to his men and to the army. He couldn't go off half-cocked through the forest when he barely had enough troops to maintain Belvadere through the winter.
But Josh wasn't ready to give up on Mackenzie. Not yet. Something told him she was still alive. Maybe it was because he knew her and knew that she was a survivor. Maybe it was because he loved her ever since they were kids fishing in the river.
It didn't matter to Josh that she didn't love him. He'd accepted that fact long ago. Her spirit was too wild and his was too tame. She was too passionate. He was too impassive. That didn't stop him from loving her or caring for her. In place of her father, Josh saw it as his duty to find Mackenzie and to kill the red bastard who kidnapped her. No matter what the heathen had done to her, Josh would take her home to the Chesapeake. He didn't care if she was sullied. He'd marry her and he'd love her the rest of his life.
Josh tripped on a dead vine and grabbed his horse's neck to keep from stumbling.
"You all right?" Robert Red Shirt halted.
Josh waved his hand covered by a thin leather riding glove. "Fine. Keep moving," he shouted into the wind. "We have a good hour of daylight left before we have to set camp."
Robert nodded and trudged on, his Dutch pipe leaving a trail of smoke behind him.
Josh looped his horse's reins over his arm and rubbed his hands together. Next Indian village they reached, he'd have to see if someone could sell him a pair of fur mittens. It was cold here in the mountains, far colder than on the Chesapeake for late October. Robert said they only had a few more weeks and then they would have to head back to the fort for the winter. After winter passed, if they hadn't found Mackenzie, it would be up to Josh if he wanted to hire Robert again.
Josh didn't want to think that far ahead. He wanted to believe he would find Mackenzie . . . perhaps even at the next village.
Tall Moccasin sat on the stream bank and jiggled his fishing line. The west wind blew and whistled overhead and he snuggled deeper into his hooded, leather tunic. His mother had told him not to leave their wigwam without his fur wrap. He wished he'd listened to her.
But Tall Moccasin was on a mission and Shawnee braves on missions didn't have to listen to their mothers. He jiggled the fishing line again, hoping to attract the attention of a fish that wasn't too cold to come to the surface. Tall Moccasin was scouting . . . actually he was trailing.
Ever since Tall Moccasin had seen Uncle Okonsa drying those scalps, Tall Moccasin had been watching him. He'd been too afraid to tell anyone what his crazy uncle had said and done that day, but felt an obligation to the village to keep an eye on Okonsa. After all, someone had to.
There was something not right about Aunt Little Weaver's accident, and he feared his uncle had more to do with it than he or his aunt admitted. Tall Moccasin had heard his aunt and uncle arguing that day. Then he'd heard Aunt Little Weaver cry out in pain. Without actually being inside the wigwam, there was no way Tall Moccasin could say Little Weaver hadn't fallen, but he was suspicious. Uncle Okonsa's words had been vicious. He had shouted at her for being pregnant. That was when she supposedly fell and her tiny baby died.
After the funeral, when the little bundle had been laid to rest in a burial pit, Tall Moccasin had tried to talk to his aunt about what happened. All Little Weaver had said, though, was that he ought to mind his own business and stay away from Uncle Okonsa.
But how could Tall Moccasin do that? Where would his sense of duty be? He was such a coward that he was afraid to tell Uncle Fire Dancer what Uncle Okonsa had said and done the day with the scalps. But secretly, Tall Moccasin could protect his family and the village. He could protect them by keeping an eye on Okonsa. So far, his uncle hadn't noticed him.
Tall Moccasin smiled to himself as he swished the wooden fishing lure through the chilling water. He was a good scout. Uncle Fire Dancer had taught him well. Tall Moccasin could move through the forest undetected. He could stand near a wigwam and look like he was playing with a leather ball, when actually he was listening to every word that passed inside the wigwam. He could sneak into Uncle Okonsa's lodge, pick through his possessions, and sneak out again without being seen.
Tall Moccasin spent hours watching Uncle Okonsa watch Mackenzie. It seemed to be his favorite pastime. He followed her to the river when she bathed. He followed her to the fields. He watched her when she cooked on her outside hearth. One night Tall Moccasin even caught Uncle Okonsa listening outside the wigwam as Mackenzie and Uncle Fire Dancer made love.
Tall Moccasin wrinkled his nose. When his father was alive, his father and mother had done that kissing and touching stuff. His father had explained that it was what married people did and that it was rude to listen or to watch. There was many a night Tall Moccasin remembered falling asleep to the sound of his parents making those loving noises. It had always comforted him. Knowing that his mother and father loved each other had made him feel loved.
Tall Moccasin spotted movement in the woods upstream. Uncle Okonsa had been there all morning with his friends burning out a new dugout canoe. His uncle separated from the group and crossed the stream, jumping from rock to rock.
Tall Moccasin pulled up his fishing line and wrapped it carefully around a smooth pine stick. Whistling to himself, he tucked the fishing line into the bag he wore on his belt. He tried to act casual so that if Battered Pot or one of his uncle's other friends saw him, they would just think he was a boy out fishing.
Tall Moccasin crossed the stream further down, skipping across the rocks like he was playing.
Where was Uncle Okonsa going?
A few yards into the forest on the far side of the stream, Tall Moccasin spotted Gentle Bear sitting on a limb, keeping watch over the village.
Tall Moccasin waved a greeting and smiled.
"Where do you go, Tall Moccasin?" Gentle Bear asked in their native tongue.
Tall Moccasin ducked under the branch wondering how it held his great weight. "Out to check my rabbit snares."
Gentle Bear glanced north. "You would be better to bring your snares in closer to your mother's hearth. We are at war, you must remember. It is dangerous for cubs to stray far from the den."
Tall Moccasin wrinkled his nose. "I'm big enough to take care of myself." He thrust out his chest proudly. "When spring comes, Snake Man says I will receive my totem."
"Go with you, then, but do not linger in the forest. If you see anything out of place, come back to the village, do you understand this man?" Gentle Bear asked.
"Ah." Tall Moccasin gave another wave. He would have to hurry if he was going to catch up with Okonsa.
Tall Moccasin ran through the forest and veered to the right, hoping he would cross his uncle's path. Where was he going in the middle of the day? Not hunting. He carried no bow. Not scouting. He carried no pack. Any man who left the village for more than an hour carried a pack in case he was stranded from the village.
Tall Moccasin came upon a dry, shattered leaf on the elk path he followed. Studying it more closely, he found a moccasin print, still damp at the very edges. It was Uncle Okonsa's print.
With a grin, Tall Moccasin hurried on. As he walked, he listened to the sounds of the forest. He heard the trees rustling in the wind. He heard squirrels chatter. Something big rubbed its back on a tree trunk. Tall Moccasin stopped and sniffed the air. Luckily he smelled no bear . . . it had to be an elk or a deer. He walked on.
Further down the path, a chipmunk dropped an acorn and another chipmunk grabbed it and ran. Tall Moccasin chuckled and stopped to watch their antics. Soon all the small animals would retreat for the winter and the forest would be silent until the coming of spring. Tall Moccasin was looking as forward to spring as he thought those chipmunks were.
Tall Moccasin passed under an elm tree and realized he had lost his uncle's tracks. He stopped and spun around and stared at the ground. Had Uncle Okonsa strayed off the path? Tall Moccasin walked back down the elk path. He was good at tracking, especially if a man wasn't trying to hide the signs.
A sound in the tree startled Tall Moccasin and he fumbled to unsheathe his knife. Someone leaped from the tree overhead.
Uncle Okonsa.
"You follow me," Okonsa accused.
Tall Moccasin's lower lip trembled. He did not return his knife to its sheath. "I . . . I do not, Uncle. I . . . I search for my rabbit snares. I . . . I guess I lost them."
"Liar!" Uncle Okonsa's hand snaked out and he smacked Tall Moccasin hard across the face.
Tears welled in Tall Moccasin's eyes. No one had ever struck him before. The Shawnee did not hit their children.
Tall Moccasin touched his palm to his stinging cheek. "You should not have done that, Uncle."
"How long have you been following me, you little dog turd?" Okonsa took a step toward Tall Moccasin.
Tall Moccasin took a step back. "I . . . I wasn't—"
"Don't lie to me." Okonsa's hand flew so fast that Tall Moccasin didn't have time to react. He tried to duck, but Okonsa hit him hard on his temple and struck his eye.
Tall Moccasin didn't make a sound, but it took a second for his vision to clear. The side of his face throbbed with pain. He was afraid, but he didn't know what to do. Did he try to run? Did he call out in the hopes that he wasn't too far from Gentle Bear to be heard?
"I asked you a question," Okonsa barked harshly. He raised his hand to strike Tall Moccasin again.
"N . . . not long. I wasn't really following you. I only wanted to see . . ."
"See what?"
"Where you were going without a bow or a pack."
Okonsa's black eyes narrowed dangerously. His nose ring glimmered in the sunlight. "You have been following me, turd. The other night when I was in the sweat house." He pointed accusingly. "It was you I heard outside."
Tall Moccasin took a step backward and shook his head. "No. No it wasn't me," he lied. "I . . . I was in my mother's lodge. I'm not allowed out after it grows dark. I was with my mother."
"Liar!"
This time Okonsa struck him so hard that Tall Moccasin fell backward. Tall Moccasin felt his feet crumble under him and he lashed out wildly with his hunting knife. As he fell back, he heard his uncle grunt in pain. Tall Moccasin must have nicked him with his knife.
Tall Moccasin hit the ground hard and balled himself up to try to roll away. His Uncle kicked him in the stomach and Tall Moccasin lost the grip on his knife.
Tall Moccasin was ashamed of the tears that ran down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cried. "I . . . I won't do it again. D . . . don't hit me again. I won't tell . . . please Uncle . . ."
Tall Moccasin saw his uncle's face leering over him. He saw his balled fist come toward him. He felt the blow to his head and the explosion of pain . . . and then he felt nothing but coldness seep around him.