Wild Innocence (22 page)

“Black Hawk is in the wigwam of Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw,” Daniel said as he approached her. His smile for her reached his blue eyes. “We made it back—all of us. We're all fine.”

Rachel felt dizzy as she closed her eyes. “Thank God,” she said. Her lashes fluttered open, and she grinned at her brother-in-law. “Thank you, Daniel.” She wanted to hug him, but wasn't sure he'd appreciate the affectionate display.

He opened his arms to her, and she felt his embrace for the first time. It felt like a gentle bear hug. When he released her, Rachel saw her sister grinning at the two of them.

“You've got a fine husband, Amelia,” she admitted, feeling warmth for Daniel Trahern.

“I know,” she said. “Man-with-Big-Head can be charming when he wants to be.”

Rachel chuckled. “I'm sorry,” she apologized, grinning, “but that name—it makes me laugh.”

Daniel wasn't offended as he shot a rueful smile at his pregnant wife. “Your sister's idea, I'm afraid,” he said.

 

 

The chief stared at their Sioux prisoner. “You will speak to us, Clouds-at-Morning,” he said. “You have done a terrible thing to take our friend John Dempsey. We do not like this. Runs-with-the-Wind will not like this.”

Black Hawk stared at the Sioux warrior with hard eyes. “You have knowledge of a certain brave. We wish to know where he is.”

Clouds-at-Morning stiffened. “I do not have to tell you anything.”

“His name is He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick,” Black Hawk continued, as if the Sioux had not spoken. “He killed my father. I must know where he is.”

“I do not know him.”

But a flicker of emotion in the man's dark eyes told Black Hawk that the brave did. “You can tell us now or tell us as you die. It makes no difference to us.”

The Sioux brave looked alarmed. “He is a cruel warrior.”

Black Hawk nodded. “He kills because he enjoys it.”

“If I tell you where he last was, will you release me? Release my people?”

The rescue party had taken five braves prisoner to ensure John Dempsey's safe release. The U.S. soldiers had stayed behind to guard the remaining villagers and to make sure that Black Hawk and his men weren't followed or ambushed.

“We will release you and your people on one condition,” Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw said. “You must not bother John Dempsey or his daughters again.”

A spark of anger lit Clouds-at-Morning's gaze. “I have given the daughter Rachel the right to choose me as husband.”

“Rachel does not want to marry you,” Daniel Trahern said as he entered the wigwam. “She has told me so. You frighten her.” He scowled. “And apparently she's had good reason to be frightened.”

“You will not come near Rachel Dempsey again,” Black Hawk warned. “If you do, we will hunt down you and your people, and we will kill every one of them.”

“I will stay away from Rachel Dempsey,” the Sioux brave murmured. But there was anger, not fear, in his dark eyes.

Daniel's smile was grim. “Good.”

“About He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick,” Black Hawk said.

The Sioux shivered. “I will tell you what I know, but he must not learn who told you.”

Black Hawk felt a trickle of excitement. “He will not know.”

“He was last seen in the village of Great Buffalo. He does not stay too long in any one place. Our people respect him, but many fear him. He comes for a time, then leaves to visit the next village.”

“Great Buffalo,” Black Hawk murmured. “Where is this village?”

Clouds-at-Morning turned defiant. “I should not tell you. How do I know you will not attack and kill my people?”

“Did you attack the village of Red Dog?” Black Hawk asked, and was relieved when the Sioux brave shook his head. “I do not want your people. I want only He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick. I give you my word that we will release your people. They will not be harmed.”

Clouds stared at Black Hawk a long time before responding. “The village is where we meet for council, where the buffalo follow the big mountain.” He went to describe how to get to this place and how long it had been since He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick had left Clouds-at-Morning's village.

Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw waved to the warrior guarding the doorway. “Take Clouds-at-Morning to the wigwam of Sleeping Bird. See that he is fed and rested.” He then addressed the Sioux brave. “Tomorrow we will talk one last time.”

“You said you would let me go!” the brave cried as he was led from the wigwam.

“So I did,” the chief said. “And so you shall be.” He glanced at Black Hawk. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

Black Hawk's look was steady as he gazed at his chief and then at his friend Daniel. “I want the warrior He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick.”

“Then you shall have him,” the chief said.

When the Sioux was taken away, Daniel turned to Black Hawk. “Can you trust him?”

“I do not know,” Black Hawk said, “but we will honor our word.” He had waited a long time for his father's murderer.

Soon,
he thought.
Soon, He-Who-Kilds-with-Big-Stick will meet Black-Hawk- Who-Hunts-at-Dawn. And I, Black Hawk, will avenge my father's death!

Black Hawk is back!
Rachel thought. She was anxious to see him. Would he be glad to see her?

She was disappointed that he hadn't immediately sought her out. What had happened? How did they get her father away so easily? Where was Clouds-at-Morning?

Father is safe,
Rachel thought.
Black Hawk is safe!
There was still much to learn about the rescue, but Daniel had promised to tell the story later, after they'd eaten the evening meal. Rachel hadn't argued with her sister's husband. She was happy with the turn of events and her new friendship with Daniel. She sensed a change in her brother-in-law's attitude toward her; she couldn't be more pleased.

Black Hawk was with the Ojibwa chief, Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw. Rachel longed to see him again, but she knew he would be with his leader for a long while. She headed back to Spring Blossom's wigwam, where she'd been staying with the Indian maiden, Amelia, and Jane. There was to be a feast this night in celebration of the rice harvest. The meal would include Ojibwa and white man's food. Daniel had gone to the cabin to fetch the necessary ingredients for dessert cakes, Amelia's contribution to the meal.

Rachel decided to make
mashkodesimin,
an Ojibwa soup made from beans. It was just one of many dishes that she'd learned to cook during her stay at the village.

As she searched for a clay bowl and cooking utensils, Rachel's thoughts lingered on Black Hawk. Now that her father was back and the threat of invading Sioux was gone, the time had come for her to return to the mission. She didn't want to leave him. She wanted to stay and spend more time with Black Hawk. What if she went away and never saw him again?

She longed to speak with him and find out how he felt about her. He'd said he'd return to her.
Her,
she thought. What did he mean? That he loved her enough to come back?

They'd been lovers. Was it love that had driven him to take her? Or desire?

She unearthed the basket of beans and dumped them in the clay pot for cooking.
But desire isn't love,
she thought as she added herbs for seasoning. On impulse, she threw in a handful of dried corn kernels and a few other ingredients of her own.

Rachel stirred the contents of the pot, then set it to simmer over the fire. As she added other ingredients to the dish, she recalled herself and Black Hawk in a secluded forest glen ... two bodies cleaving together in the most special act of love that two people could share. She felt a shiver of pleasure at the memory.

Whatever happened, she thought, she wouldn't regret giving herself to Black Hawk. Her lips curved in a slow feminine smile as she remembered her initial fear of the marriage act. Loving Black Hawk had been so wonderful. It seemed silly to her now that she'd ever felt afraid.

Her smile vanished as she realized that if Black Hawk didn't love her, she would never experience the joy again.

No wonder love makes children,
she thought.
Children!
Dear Lord, what if they had produced a child!

Rachel cradled her belly as if the tiny life had already sprouted inside her. Black Hawk's child, she thought. An Ojibwa baby.

Her expression softened.
Black Hawk would be a good father.
She loved the idea of having his babe. Rachel knew it was unusual to feel that way, considering that she was unwed and the notion would be scandalous back in Baltimore.

But this isn't Baltimore.
And she wanted to have Black Hawk's child.

“And I will fight to protect this child of love,” she vowed. “I will want him. He was conceived in love, my love for the babe's father.”

She thought she heard Black Hawk's voice among the villagers who had gathered in the clearing. Heart pounding, she remained in the wigwam and calmly, carefully, stirred the contents of the cooking pot. Outside, dogs barked, and the Indians shared laughter. She heard a young boy call to his friend, and a mother scold her daughter.

“Rach-el.”

She spun toward the doorway. Black Hawk had lifted the deerskin door flap and stepped inside. Rachel took one long look at him and felt emotion well up and tighten her throat. He looked wonderful. He had bathed recently; his dark hair was shiny and damp, and his skin looked scrubbed clean.

“Black Hawk,” she whispered.

“I came back,” he said.

She nodded.

“We brought your father.”

She swallowed. “Yes, I saw him.” She felt emotionally fragile. She was afraid that at any moment she would start to cry. “Thank you.” She blinked back tears.

“Come,” he said, and opened his arms.

With a wild cry, she went to him and held onto him tightly. “I was so afraid for you.”

He had thought of her as they'd approached the Sioux village. Black Hawk had worried about failing her, but the Sioux had been careless. The attackers had slipped into the village after surrounding it on all sides. The fighting had been over before it'd begun.

“I was never in any danger,” he assured her. “There were many of us and so few of them. We circled their village, then we went in while they slept and took prisoners.”

Rachel pulled away. “You have prisoners?”

He nodded. “Clouds-at-Morning and some of his men,” he said. He saw a question in her green gaze. “No, he has not been harmed. No one has been killed.” He didn't tell her of the guard that had attacked one of the soldiers and had been shot by another. The brave had been severely wounded, but he was alive.

Black Hawk gazed into her eyes, saw her sweetness, and groaned as he bent his head to kiss her. Her mouth was moist and warm and all that he'd remembered. He wanted to continue kissing her forever, but he forced himself to stop. Soon, he'd have to leave, and she would be gone.

“Rach-el,” he murmured. Holding her gaze, he stroked her hair. “Soon, you must return to the mission, and I must leave my village.”

She stiffened. “You're leaving?
Why?”

“I go to find my father's murderer. I will come back after I find the one called He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick.”

“But that's crazy!” she cried. She grabbed onto his arms. “What if you get killed?”

Black Hawk's smile was grim. “I must go. Only when the man is dead, will I find peace in my heart.”

And love?
she wanted to ask him.
Will you find it in your heart to love?

“You're not a murderer,” she said, believing it to be true. “How will killing him bring back your father?”

His gaze hardened. “You do not understand our ways,” he said. “This is necessary. I kill when I must.”

“No,” she gasped. Couldn't he see that she was frightened for him? He couldn't go. He mustn't! Her eyes filled with tears. “Black Hawk, I don't want you to go.”

He scowled and freed himself from her hold. “You do not have the right to tell me what to do.”

Pain tightened her chest, making it difficult to breathe. “I know that.” The truth cut her deeply.

“I will leave when this night of feasting is over,” he said. He was like a cold, dark stranger as he spoke without kindness or love. “When I get back, you will be gone. Be happy that you have your father.”

Desperate to make him understand, she reached for him. “I am! I—”

“Clouds-at-Morning should not bother you again.” He brushed her hands aside. “If he does, there will be men who will kill him.”

Rachel stared at the man she loved and saw the dark savage in him.
How could I've thought he had feelings for me?
Men weren't to be trusted. They used women as it suited them, then tossed them away when it was no longer convenient.

A convenience. Was that all she was to Black Hawk? A convenient, willing female? Someone to slake his lust?
She remembered his kindness and his caring. She wouldn't, couldn't believe it! He had to feel something more.

“You care for me,” she whispered. “I know you do.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You are a foolish woman.”

“Are you saying that you felt nothing when we made love?”

His jaw hardened. “It does not take love to make
niinag
rise,” he said crudely.

She blanched. She didn't need an interpreter to understand the Ojibwa term. “That's all I was to you? A woman?”

He shrugged, as if he didn't sense her pain.

She became blinded by a red haze of fury and pain. “Get out,” she spat. “Get out before I do something I'll regret!”

If she'd ever thought she'd felt worse pain, she'd been mistaken. This hurt her worse than when Jordan had left her at the altar.

Black Hawk looked at her without emotion, then raised his eyebrows as if he thought of her as nothing more than a silly female. Rachel suffered a slow, painful inner death.

“Please leave,” she said, averting her gaze. She refused to look at him. The man she loved had just slashed her heart in two.

“Thank you for rescuing my father,” she said, “but I want you to leave me now.”

He hesitated.

“Go!” she cried, turning to face him. “Leave me!” She'd lost the battle to keep her pain hidden.

“Rach-el Dempsey.” He'd said it so softly that she wasn't sure she'd heard him.

Heart pounding, she looked at him, but saw only a swinging door flap. Black-Hawk-Who-Hunts-at-Dawn had gone.

 

 

She knew the remainder of the evening would be horrible. While everyone else within the village celebrated, Rachel pretended to enjoy herself, but felt miserable inside.

The celebration began with a ceremony using the wild rice. Each family brought a small covered container of cooked rice to the village ceremonial house.

“Rice must be taken to big house for special blessing,” Spring Blossom explained. “We close lid tightly to protect rice from evil spirits.”

Rachel watched without enthusiasm as the Indian maiden prepared the rice. Then she followed Spring Blossom, Amelia, and Jane to the big house.

Inside, all the Ojibwa had gathered for the blessing of the harvest. Spring Blossom placed her rice pot on a small table with the others. After uncovering the pot, she joined Rachel and her other guests off to one side.

When everyone had placed their offering of rice, an Ojibwa man stepped from the gathering and approached the table. He was elaborately dressed in a deerskin breechclout and leggings. His shirt was white fabric—a white man's shirt—but he had a long fringed sash, embroidered in a brightly colored diamond pattern and adorned with porcupine quills. His loincloth was fringed and highly decorated as well. On his head, he wore a feathered headdress.

The medicine man lit a pipe and blew tobacco smoke in four different directions.

Woman-with-Hair-of-Fox had come to stand near the two Dempsey sisters. “White Shirt is our medicine man,” Rachel heard her explain to Amelia. “He blows pipe in the direction of the four winds. It is an offering to the spirits.”

Rachel glanced toward the matron and saw that both she and Amelia were engrossed in the ceremonial proceedings. A voice spoke, and she turned her attention back to the center of the room.

Another older Indian had come forward. His tone rose and fell as he chanted in Ojibwa.

“That's He-Who-Comes-from-Far-Away,” Amelia told her sister softly. “He's Woman-with-Hair-of-Fox's husband.”

Rachel nodded. She knew who he was; she'd met him during her stay. “What is he saying?” Despite herself, she was intrigued.

“He is praying to the spirits,” Woman-with-Hair-of-Fox said. “He gives thanks that our people have lived to enjoy another harvest of the rice.”

Rachel watched as the medicine man took a small amount of rice from one pot and ate it. The owner of the pot stepped forward and ate his own small share. The medicine man then went to another pot, and the same procedure occurred for that pot and all the others on the table. As a container was eaten from, the rice, or
manoomin,
inside was considered blessed or consecrated. The remaining rice was then carried outside for feasting.

The villagers had prepared a feast, the likes of which Rachel had never seen before. There was roast venison, bear meat, and fresh fish ... vegetable dishes and cakes made from corn, and sweets from maple sugar along with Amelia's dessert cakes. Once again, Amelia's cakes proved to be a favorite among the Indian men and now the children, who'd received their first taste.

And there was music. Wherever she went in the village, Rachel could hear the rhythmic shake of birch-bark rattles and the accompanying beat of the Ojibwa water drums.

There was much laughter and gaiety as everyone took their share of food. Rachel found a seat on the ground next to Amelia. Daniel came to sit on his wife's opposite side.

Although she felt separate from the gaiety of the celebration, Rachel pretended to be happy as she smiled frequently at her family and the Ojibwa participants.