Candace McCarthy (16 page)

“We can discuss when to leave later,” Brown said, interpreting John’s look correctly.

“Fine.”

The fur trapper addressed Mary. “Any chance of getting a taste of the food in that pot over there?”

Mary smiled slightly. “Most certainly,” she said. Then she gestured for them to follow her.

 

 

Still reeling from the hurt of being rejected by Fireheart, Joanna was more than glad that John and Gillian had come. As she’d told them, it seemed as if they had read her mind and then appeared. Their arrival was like an answer to her prayers for leaving. Thank goodness Cara and Harry had been delayed in Philadelphia. She wanted to leave this place of pain, and now her friends were here to take her away from it.

The last one she’d expected to see with John was Gillian, however. She was so pleased that Gillian had braved the voyage. She hated the time spent onboard ship herself. She could imagine how difficult it must have been for her friend. At the first opportunity, she would thank Gillian for caring for a friend so much that she would come all this way just to make sure she was all right.

That opportunity came later that day, the last day of the ceremonies, before the Indian guests had left, when Joanna finally found the time to ask Gillian to walk alone with her. Gillian, who seemed a little lost in the Indian village, was only too happy to have something to do.

As they started down the path toward the lake, Joanna was silent. There was much that she needed to tell Gillian. Where should she start?

With Fireheart, she decided. While her and Mary’s relationship had vastly improved, she found it easier to confide in Gillian about her feelings for the handsome brave. It was easy to talk with her friend. From the first day of their meeting, they had become instant friends. They had told each other secrets, encouraged each other when one wanted to do something daring or bold. Their friendship had endured over the years from the time they’d met when they were fifteen until the present. It was a friendship that Joanna valued highly.

As the dancers danced their final steps and some of the villagers ventured out to eat, Joanna and Gillian went to the lake where Joanna suggested they take off their shoes to wade in the clear water.

Studying her friend as Gillian removed one shoe, Joanna realized that Gillian wasn’t just uncomfortable in the wilderness, she seemed terrified of it. It was as if her friend expected a warrior or a beast to jump out at them at any moment.

“Gillian, relax. It’s safe here,” she told her.
For the time being,
she could have added but didn’t.

“But the Indians—”

“Harmless,” Joanna assured. “Oh, not all of them are.” She was forced then to explain about the Iroquois and their attack on the village. She was sorry she’d said anything at all about them when she saw her friend’s rising fear. “Don’t look so alarmed, Gilly. The Cayuga won’t be back,” she quickly assured her. “Our Lenape men took care of them.”

“They killed them?”

Joanna nodded. “Yes, all of them.” All but one, she thought, but soon he too would be a dead man.

“How can you stand it?” Gillian’s face looked white, as if the thought of the battle had made her ill.

“What?”

“This life?” She glanced back. “Living in huts. Eating who knows what?” She caught Joanna’s arm. “They don’t eat people, do they? Tell me I don’t have to worry about that.”

Joanna laughed softly. “No. At least, not lately. Now, I don’t think I can say the same for the Iroquois—especially the Mohawks.”

Gillian glanced around with fear. “Are there any of them here?”

With an amused smile, Joanna shook her head, then chuckled out loud when she heard her friend’s sigh of relief.

Joanna was glad that no one else was at the lake. She preferred this time alone with her friend. Hoping to help Gillian to relax, she sat down on her favorite rock, and invited Gillian to join her.

Once seated on the rock with her feet kicking lightly in the lake, Gillian seemed to relax as she watched the play of the water against her feet. It was late afternoon, and the sun was an orange glow in the sky. The orange orb lit up the sky, and shimmered on the lake’s surface. It was peaceful and lovely, and the drums that had seemed so sinister before were less so now, coming from farther in the distance.

The two women were quiet for a time, each content simply to be in each other’s company.
It has always been like this with us,
Joanna thought.
Good friends, willing to wait for the other one to speak.

“Gillian, there is something I have to tell you. It’s about a Lenape brave. His name is Fireheart....”

Then Joanna began to tell Gillian about the man she loved. She told her about the warrior who was now chief, and about the woman he intended to marry.

 

 

The funeral ceremony ended, and Wild Squirrel’s body was taken to his burial place, a grave hollowed out of the ground in the forest. The gravesite was a lovely place surrounded by ferns and wildflowers.

The hole in the ground that would serve as the chief’s resting place had been lined with planks of wood along the sides and on the bottom. After the body was lowered inside, the men would lower boards to cover the top, too.

The braves who carried Wild Squirrel set the chief’s body in his grave. His nephew Fireheart placed Wild Squirrel’s bow and arrow at his side while a matron put in a supply of food. These items and those that another warrior included would be things necessary to the
sachem
during his long journey from this life to the next one. They were items that would ensure Wild Squirrel’s comfort and safety.

The chief’s face and exposed body parts had been painted red by his clansmen. He was dressed in the finest clothing: a new breechcloth, beautifully adorned moccasins, and his feathered headdress. He wore an embroidered sash with beads and porcupine quills. He lay curled on one side, a position he’d been laid in shortly after his death. He looked like a gentle old man sleeping the sleep of peace. Only his people knew that he had a battle still to fight, and a journey to make to the Spirit World.

Those at the gravesite remained for a few minutes while the
shaman
sang a prayer, made an offering of tobacco to the spirits, and then laid the first piece of birch wood over the dead man’s grave. The other pieces of wood followed, laid over the body by friends and relatives saying farewell. Then one last prayer was said, and the funeral post was placed at the head of the grave to mark the site. With that done, Fireheart and the others said their silent good-byes and returned to the village.

Fireheart felt the emptiness of having lost someone dear as he entered the village yard. Seeking comfort, he searched for Joanna and saw instead two strange white men. His body became seized with a chill as he wondered who they were, what they were doing here in Little River.

Was one of them Joanna’s guide? Rising Bird had told him that Autumn Wind wanted to go home to England. Had this man come to take her across the sea, home to the house of her uncle?

He tensed, recalling Joanna’s scars. Why would she want to go back to that place? The place which held bad memories for her, a place of tears?

He sensed Joanna’s presence before he saw her coming up the path. She wasn’t alone. She had someone with her. A white woman.

The white woman was someone she knew, he thought. A friend. From England?

Fireheart studied the dark-haired woman and found her wanting in comparison to the woman he loved. She wasn’t as vibrant or as beautiful as Autumn Wind. Still, this woman was Joanna’s friend, so she must have been good and kind to her.

Fireheart didn’t move, but waited for Joanna to see him. When she did, she stopped, and he still fought the urge to go to her. It wouldn’t be right if he looked too anxious to talk with her. He wanted her, but she would never belong to him. And he had to remember....

“Moon Dove,” he murmured.

As if to taunt him, to incite his guilt, the Indian maiden came up from behind him and touched his arm.

“Fireheart, I have brought you a cool drink,” she said with a soft smile.

He returned her smile as he accepted the cup she offered him.
“Wa-neé-shih,”
he murmured before taking a sip.

Drinking thirstily of the cool water, he thanked her again, told her he had had enough, and gave her back the drinking vessel. She seemed pleased as she nodded and took it away.

Moon Dove will be a good wife,
he reminded himself.

And wouldn’t Joanna?
an inner voice taunted him. He knew the answer, but he refused to listen to it. He couldn’t accept what his heart and his mind were telling him. If he did, there would be no chance for his future happiness with Moon Dove.

“Kihiila,”
his heart and thoughts said anyway.

“Joanna, there is something I need to discuss with you.”

She frowned at John’s tone. She had never before seen him looking this serious. “What is it, John?”

He glanced around, scowling. “Is there someplace where we can be alone?”

Joanna nodded, and led him from the village toward the river, not the lake. It was morning, the time of day when there would be others at the lake, bathing, washing dishes, or fetching water.

They walked for a time, and then Joanna turned to him. “What is it? Has something happened to Neville Manor?” she asked. Strangely, the thought of a calamity there didn’t particularly upset her.

“No, no,” he assured her. “Nothing like that.”

“Who is overseeing the estate?”

“My brother Michael’s man. He’s very good actually, but not as good as your uncle, I’m afraid. That’s why I wanted to speak with you.” He took off his vest, and laid it on the ground, then gestured for her to sit.

Joanna did so, studying him with curious eyes.

“Joanna . . .”

His reluctance to continue puzzled her. “Yes, John?” she encouraged him.

“You are returning home with us, aren’t you? You didn’t just say that you were when we got here because you were happy to see old friends.”

She looked away. “Of course, I’ll be returning home with you. It’s time I go back. There are things to do there, affairs to take care of—”

“Marry me, Joanna,” he urged.

Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “John—” “I think you know where my heart has been all along, and when your uncle died, I didn’t want to push the issue. But it would work out for the best, don’t you see? I can handle all those business matters for you—”

“That’s a generous offer, John, but—”

“Oh, I know that you don’t love me.” He smiled. “But I hope to change your mind in time. I have a great deal of affection for you. We are good friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course, we are—”

“Then won’t you give us a chance? There are worse things than two friends marrying. It seems like a wise decision to me. I know people who have married with far less between them.”

Joanna knew such people, too. Those who married for money, or for an English title. Those who married because their parents had made an arrangement when they were children, or just born.

John was right, she’d always suspected he wanted to marry her, and she understood why. He was a twin. It was his brother Michael who had inherited Burton Estates, not John, yet John had worked beside his brother loyally as if the property belonged as much to him.

She didn’t doubt that he cared for her. He had shown it in many ways over the years. But would friendship be enough? she wondered.

Her heart gave a lurch as she thought of Fireheart. When she had tasted heaven, would she be satisfied with earth?

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse him.

“Don’t give me your answer immediately, Joanna,” he said. “Think about it for a while. You will, at least, do that for me, won’t you?”

She gazed into the blue eyes of her good friend and nodded. Of course, she would think on it for a while. She owed him that much. “I’ll think about it.”

John smiled. “I’ll not rush you. I promise.” He extended a hand to help her to her feet.

“John, I can’t promise to give you the answer you want to hear.”

His expression sobered. “I know.” His voice had grown soft.

She smiled as she inclined her head. “Fine, then.” She caught his arm, and together they headed toward the village. “Have you tried the Indians’ corn cakes yet, John?”

He shook his head. He had tried, though, some of their other dishes and had found them surprisingly palatable—and even sweet, considering savages had made them. But he didn’t tell her that. These savages were her friends, family even.

He nodded appropriately as she chatted with him on the return journey to the Indian town. He understood, though, why Roderick Neville had felt it necessary to rescue her from this savage place. When they were married, he’d ensure that she never again felt the need to visit the Indians.

 

 

“Fireheart, there is word that the Cayuga are joining with their Seneca brothers in the north.”

The chief and several of his men were in the
sachem’
s wigwam. Stormy Wind had moved out and into the Lenape longhouse of her clan, the Turtle. Reluctantly, Fireheart had left the wigwam of the Wolf clan and moved in.

The new
sachem
was thoughtful after listening to the words of Turtle That Hops. “Where is the Cayuga?”

“The prisoner is being held in the longhouse of my mother,” the brave said.

“Bring him to me.”

The warrior agreed and left.

The Iroquois captive had been kept alive during Wild Squirrel’s funeral ceremony. There had been no time to take care of him. Fireheart wondered if the occasion was right to kill him, or whether it would be wiser to release him.

Several of the braves offered suggestions on what to do with the enemy prisoner, their tones laced with satisfaction as they envisioned the mental images. Turtle That Hops returned moments later, shoving the bound prisoner into the wigwam before him.

The Cayuga tumbled to the ground at Fireheart’s feet. The captive raised his head to glare at him.

“What was the name of your
sachem
?” Fireheart demanded.

With the help of Turtle That Hops, the Iroquois climbed to his knees. Fireheart queried him again, and the Cayuga stared at him without answering.

“I asked you a question,” Fireheart said easily.

Turtle That Hops grabbed the Indian’s bound arms and pulled them upward. The Cayuga gasped with pain and fell to the ground. With a nod from the chief, Turtle That Hops helped him up again.

“Who is your chief?”

The brave mumbled something beneath his breath.

“He said it is Great Thunder,” Rising Bird said. He sat nearest to the Cayuga, on Fireheart’s right side.

“Was
Great Thunder,” Fireheart corrected. “Your chief is dead.”

“My people will come and seek vengeance!” the Cayuga spat.

“We did not attack your people. We are a peaceful nation. We fight when we are threatened. We kill when we must defend ourselves. Untie him,” Fireheart said.

Several of the Lenape braves looked surprised while others looked pleased as they anticipated the Cayuga’s torture. Turtle That Hops undid the sinew strips binding the man’s wrists, and then the ties that bound his ankles.

When he was free, the Cayuga stood before Fireheart, his head held high, unafraid.

Studying the man, Fireheart had to admire his courage. “You are free to go,” he said.

There was a chorus of low murmurs among the Lenape war chiefs as Fireheart offered the prisoner his freedom.

The Cayuga stared at Fireheart distrustfully.

“Go. We will not harm you,” he said. His dark eyes narrowed in warning and his voice deepened as he continued. “But tell your brothers that we will be ready for them if they come to us again. Keep your brothers to their longhouses. Next time, we will kill you. Not one of you will escape.”

The Iroquois looked around him at each Lenape warrior with fear.

“They will not harm you. No one will harm you.”

“This is so,” Rising Bird said in support of his chief.

“We will not hurt you,” echoed Black Fox.

Each of Fireheart’s men assured the Cayuga that he would not be harmed.

The Iroquois started to back out the doorway.

Turtle That Hops briefly held out his hand. “Come,” he said. “I will take you to the edge of the forest so that no one within the village will be afraid and kill you.”

His eyes fluttering nervously, the Cayuga nodded.

When the enemy had gone, all eyes turned to the new chief.

Fireheart’s gaze went to the war chief, Black Fox. “Take some men and follow him. Don’t let him know you are there. Learn where he goes and if our enemy prepares for a new battle. Learn this and return here so that we shall know.”

The sound of approval swept about the
sachem’
s wigwam.

“This is a wise thing, Fireheart,” Rising Bird said as the others started to leave.

“It is the only way we will know what we must fight,” Fireheart said, his features solemn. “It is the only way we can protect the Lenape people from our Iroquois enemy.”

 

 

John’s proposal of marriage gave Joanna something to think about in the days that followed.
I don’t have to make a decision now,
she thought. There would be plenty of time for that when they returned to England.

John and Gillian had been urging her to go. She wanted to leave, she told herself, but not yet. She wanted to talk with Fireheart one more time....

She saw him exiting his wigwam with Rising Bird and another brave. Something was happening, she realized. A problem?

During the Iroquois attack, the Lenape had taken a prisoner. Perhaps the meeting had been about the captive.

Fireheart separated from the other men, and crossed the yard toward the longhouse of his clan. Joanna, seeing her opportunity, hurriedly approached him.

“Fireheart,” she called softly.

He halted and faced her. “Autumn Wind,” he said without a smile.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Was that a slight softening in his expression? “I am well.”

“Is something wrong? I saw Rising Bird and the others.”

He frowned. “You must not be concerned.”

She had every faith in his ability as chief. “I’m not worried—”

But he was already turning away. “I must go—”

She experienced a tightening in her throat. “But—” “Fireheart!” Moon Dove approached the pair with a smile for her husband-to-be.

“Moon Dove.” His smile for the lovely Lenape maiden was soft, genuine. Joanna had never felt such pain.

“I must help Mary,” Joanna said, leaving quickly, her heart breaking into pieces.

She had to leave the village and soon!

She encountered John as she headed toward the lake. His hair was wet as if he’d been swimming.

“John,” she said impulsively, “I’ll marry you.”

Hie expression brightened. “You will?”

She nodded, anxious to be free of the village . . . of Fireheart.

“I’ll take good care of you, Joanna,” John promised.

No talk of love for there wasn’t any. But there was friendship, she reminded herself. And affection. Her chest tightening, she managed to smile at him. “I know you will, John.”

 

 

He found her alone at night while everyone congregated in the community square, sharing stories, eating food. Fireheart left the yard, and headed toward the lake. When he didn’t see her there, he went to the secluded glade where they had first kissed and held each other.

He couldn’t stay away. He knew he should avoid her, to turn away and head back to the village, but something deep within him pressed him on.

He didn’t expect to find her at the clearing, but his heart pumped hard when he did. “Autumn Wind.”

She rose to her feet with a gasp. “Fireheart!” Her blonde hair looked silver in the moonlight.

“I want to talk with you.”

She averted her gaze as he approached. “You didn’t want to speak earlier.”

And he had regretted the moment instantly, he thought, as he’d watched her walk away. “I know this.”

He sat down on the bed of grass, tugging her down to sit at his side. For a long moment, he studied her. The moon was full, casting a soft glow through the trees and into the clearing. He could see her face cast in the shadows and light . . . the glistening of her green gaze . . . the trembling of her sweet mouth. He wanted to hold her, kiss her. He wanted to make her stay. But she was leaving. Her friends were here, and her visit was near its end. And he was to marry Moon Dove.

“Then why are you here now?” she asked suddenly, her voice weak.

“I had to talk with you again. I want you to be happy.”

“I see.” She stared at her hands, which lay in her lap. She played with her fingers, pretending great interest in their movements. But her thoughts were not on her actions, he knew. She was thinking of what to say.

He fought the urge to touch her hair, which lay unbound past her shoulders. She had donned her English gown again as if she was ready to go. He wanted to see her wear her tunic . . . to see her free and happy with her smile ready to tease. This changed woman was so different from the young girl he’d known that he was afraid for her. He knew she was there somewhere beneath the surface of cool politeness. If only he could see the real Joanna again....

“It seems that we have nothing more to say to each other,” she said as she rose to her feet.

He caught her arm, pulled her down again. He heard her sharp little intake of breath as he turned her to fully face him.

“This man will miss you,” he said huskily.

She blinked against tears and shook her head. “You will have a wife . . . someone who will make you forget you ever knew Autumn Wind.”

“Maata,”
he murmured, unable to keep from wanting to kiss her. His head bent lower. “I will never forget you, Joanna.”

She stared as if mesmerized as he dipped his head and took her mouth. She groaned softly as he kissed her sweetly, tenderly.

“Fireheart.” She breathed when he lifted his head. With a startled look she pushed him away. “I am going to marry John.”

He stiffened, experiencing a pain like he’d been kicked in his midsection. “You will take the white man for your husband?”

She nodded.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

She didn’t answer him, and his heart began to soar. “I respect him and care for him,” she said.