Red Bird's Song (12 page)

Candelabras on the blue walls shone over an immense sideboard that held sprigged-floral platters heaped with pastries, steamed puddings, fish in sauce, roast beef, and a whole cooked goose. Red and yellow apples and nuts of all sorts spilled from the polished silver bowls. A magnificent table ran the length of the room, laden with china plates, soup bowls, silver spoons, forks, pearl-handled knives and sparkling goblets filled with red wine. Ornate chairs carved of fine wood with seats of gold cloth lined the table.

Servants waited to serve the merry party of ladies and gentlemen entering through the double doors. The elegant assembly was dressed as she'd always imagined the wealthy would be. Men wore tailored coats and breeches of rich fabric. Ruffled shirts showed above their waistcoats.

What a contrast the ladies’ glowing gowns made to her plain homespun. Flowered fabric or stunning solids in blue and crimson draped their shapely figures. Conserving precious cloth wasn't a concern given the abundance used, and they displayed a great deal more bosom than she was accustomed to.

Powdered wigs covered many heads, though some men wore their own hair pulled back and tied at the neck with black ribbons as Colin had when Charity first met him. Ladies piled their tresses high on their heads, tendrils at their cheeks. Jewels winked at their white throats. Rings shone on the men's fingers as they assisted the women to their seats.

An impressive figure stood at the head of the table, his muscular build evident beneath his stylish clothes. A smile creased his weathered features and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. Still in his prime, he would be about the same age as her father if he'd lived and bore some resemblance to him, including red hair. But so many years had passed since her father's death that she couldn't be certain of his appearance.

"A toast!” the man called out.

The glad assembly raised their glasses.

She sidled nearer the jovial host, but he continued as if he hadn't seen her. No one at the table took any more notice of her than if she were a ghost. She lifted a pastry from the sideboard and bit into the meat filling. Savoring the delicacy, she eyed the fir boughs and holly decorating the wide mantle. Was it Christmas? Their servant, Hannah, had spoken of lavish parties given in the great homes at Yuletide.

Lilting music summoned Charity from the fireside. She glimpsed a spacious hall through the open doorway. Musicians seated in a candle-lit corner plied bows to their fiddles. Others blew flutes. One man sat before what she guessed was a harpsichord. They played while the merry company ate.

Then the music changed in tempo and swelled to a jig. Laughing couples rose from the table. Arm in arm, they entered the hall and formed two columns, gentlemen on one side and ladies on the other. Partners joined hands, circling and promenading up and down. The couples separated to step and turn with others in the figure, yet always finding each other again. Some of the steps Charity knew, while others were far more complex. Her tapping feet longed to join in.

"Dance with me,” a low voice invited.

She turned to see a tall young man behind her. When had he arrived? She hadn't noticed him among the company.

He held out his hand. “Come."

She reached out hesitantly. “I don't know the steps."

"I will teach you."

She looked closely. His handsome face was familiar, but he was dressed as she'd never thought to see him. “Mechee?"

Charity awoke to cold gray light. Divergent emotions churned inside her, leaving more questions than answers in the bewildering flood. Her heart behaved like an unruly child who must be restrained. She was at a loss to face Wicomechee, or the day. Maybe she could escape into oblivion a bit longer—

"Wake up!” James bounded at her like an exuberant dog.

She sat up, gripping the wool wrap. “Give me a minute."

"I did. Lots.” He pounced on Lily, asleep beside her.

"Easy.” Charity would like to give him a sound shake.

He ignored her and heaved the bleary-eyed child to her feet. “Get a move on, Charity!” he called over his shoulder, and propelled Lily in the direction of the stream.

"Who put you in charge of me?"

"I sent him to wake you,” Wicomechee said from behind her and slipped his fingers over her disheveled hair.

A host of sensations swelled in her that she didn't begin to know what to do with. “I'm weary, Mechee."

He stepped around her and held out grapes, nuts, and cornmeal. “This will give you strength."

"
Megwich
.” She'd have preferred corn mush, sizzling bacon and hot tea, but her empty stomach wouldn't complain.

He sat beside her as she wolfed down his offering.

"I dreamed I ate a delicious pastry. You were there too in a great house and dressed as a gentleman."

His brow furrowed. “Are you making me English?"

"I don't understand the meaning of the dream. But you asked me to dance."

"I know some English dancing."

She almost choked on her grapes. “How?"

He smiled. “Waupee taught me. He drank too much rum and sang very loud. We danced in my grandfather's
wickon
."

She tried to imagine the two men dancing around an Indian lodge and smiled despite herself. “Did you also drink rum?"

"A little.” He slid his fingers over her cheek with enticing ease. “You tremble."

Every time he touched her. “I'm cold."

"Were you chilled in the night?"

"Yes.” She refused to concede any more than that.

"Stay by my side tonight. I will warm you well."

"I cannot."

"Or will not?” he pressed.

"Both. I don't intend to be alone with you again."

He shrugged, but she sensed a reserve in his manner not present before. “We shall see."

"No. Please. Let me stay with Emma and Colin."

He frowned at her. “You are my captive, Charity."

"Couldn't I be his?"

"You wish to belong to Waupee?"

"I feel safe with him."

"Not with me?"

Dropping her eyes from the chill in Wicomechee's, she shook her head.

"Go then. Journey with my brother. Sleep by his side."

Charity twisted to ease the crick in her back. Her fingers were numb and chafed from picking through burs for those still containing nuts. Animals and warriors had scoured the chestnuts closest to camp. “I can't find anymore here."

"Me either,” James grunted. Droplets beaded the blanket wrapping him from head to foot. His cheeks were rosy from the wind and the damp cold reddened the tip of his freckled nose.

"Oh, for a warm blaze and a fat goose roasting over it."

He brightened. “Wicomechee and Posetha promised to take me hunting when we have a fire."

She stood, using her cloak as a basket for their find. “Likely those two are off together now.” Posetha had avoided her since his humiliation by Outhowwa and Wicomechee disappeared after their curt exchange this morning.

James straightened. “I dunno where they are."

Charity swiveled her head at the foggy trees, her spirits as bleak as the gray clouds cloaking the ridges. “If Mechee doesn't want to be found, he won't be,” she said with a sigh.

"Are you sad?"

"Just tired and hungry. Come on. It'll be dark soon."

They tracked back along the soggy path. His liveliness dampened by the long day, James lagged behind and Weshe followed, tail drooping. Emma and Lily were as they'd left them, slumped together against the silvery trunk of a yellow maple. Emma's hood covered most of her face and her cloak also enclosed the child. Fatigue was plain in the way they slouched together, but they needed to eat. Charity ducked under the branches and emptied her nuts into Emma's lap.

She roused. “Thank you. Sorry I'm so useless."

"James and I can manage."

"Yep.” He opened the skin of a chestnut with a sharp rock and handed the peeled nut to Emma, then plopped down beside his sister and set to work on the rest of the pile.

Lily woke and took the nutmeat he offered. Emma chewed hers without enthusiasm. “Chestnuts are far better roasted."

Charity blew on her cold fingers. “I'll go and see what else I can find."

"You've already been. Colin and Wicomechee will have something."

"Colin will be a while yet.” Charity glimpsed him through the hazy foliage, rubbing down Stuart's flanks.

Emma's lips pursed. “Sometimes, I think he cares more for that horse than he does for me."

"Nonsense. You and Lily would never manage on foot. Besides, when Colin looks at you, his eyes are so tender."

"I suppose so,” Emma said, her demeanor mellowing. “Wait on Wicomechee, then. He should be along soon."

"Heaven knows where he is. I haven't seen him all day."

"That's strange. Won't he be joining us with food?"

"He might not, after what I said this morning."

Creases lined Emma's smooth brow. “Oh my. It won't be easy to manage without him. Colin can only do so much."

"I know, but what am I to do? Marriage is out of the question."

Emma's expression grew thoughtful. “Wicomechee is attractive and clever, and he speaks well for—"

"Not you, too,” Charity broke in.

"We're stuck out here, Charity. Each day takes us farther and farther away from the life we knew. Besides, you care for him."

"Not so much."

"More than a little,” Emma countered.

Charity evaded her scrutiny and watched a brown rabbit hop past the tree. “That doesn't mean I want to be his wife."

"Who are you going to wed then, Posetha, Chaka?"

Charity recoiled. “How can you even suggest Chaka?"

"I wasn't being serious about him, but captive women who don't wed within the tribe can end up as some sort of slaves. And women in the village will treat you badly if you haven't got a husband. Colin told me."

"Would she be like Jenna?” James asked in a shocked whisper, referring to the Negro purchased by a valley family. “She got whipped real bad."

Lily looked around in drowsy confusion. “Who's Jenna?"

"Never mind. I'm not going to be anyone's slave,” Charity said. “Colin won't let that happen. Or Mechee."

"But if you've offended him, who can say what he'll do for you?” Emma asked.

"I didn't mean to offend him. Oh, Emma, he asks too much."

"Calm down. No one's forcing you to marry him. But consider carefully. Some captives are sold to the French."

"Dear God.” Charity stood and did what she normally did whenever life became too overwhelming—walked, or ran, away. “I'll go and see what else I can find to eat."

"Don't stray. The warriors won't approve,” Emma warned.

"I won't.” Charity left the trio in a shower of yellow leaves, Weshe at her heels. If nut trees weren't at hand, she'd peel black birch bark and strip the inner layer. It was nourishing and tasted of wintergreen. Wicomechee showed her.

She stepped across knobby roots and rocks, wet branches brushing her shoulders. A likely tree emerged in the haze. Remembering his caution, she snapped a twig and sniffed the disappointing whiff of bitter almond. Wild cherry was poisonous.

A trace scent of wintergreen wafted up from beneath her feet. She looked down. A few partridgeberries clung to the waxy green leaves creeping across the trail. Weshe nosed in the undergrowth as Charity sank down onto the fragrant mat and plucked every berry, devouring her find like a famished deer.

Fat raindrops spattered her cheek. Slipping cold hands inside her cloak, she got to her feet. “Come on, Weshe."

The beagle stood as if rooted to the trail, staring into the foggy pine boughs. Tiny chipmunks scurried over the leaf-strewn earth. Nothing appeared amiss. Yet the dog growled from deep in his throat, and the fur on his back bristled.

"Weshe,” she summoned, turning away. Whatever it was, they'd leave it behind—

A snuffling sounded behind her and she spun back around. The lower boughs of a massive evergreen whipped about like the last leaves of autumn in a late-season storm. Needles sprayed down as two large branches spread with the wet crack of living wood. A black nose nearly as big as her fist pushed between the broken limbs. Another rough snort and the broad snout and huge hairy head forced through the opening. Then an enormous brown bear heaved its thickly pelted bulk out of the trees right in front of her.

Charity staggered backwards with a gasp. Beady black eyes inspected her coldly without any evidence of surprise. She stood frozen in place, but her mind raced; run, don't run, play possum, climb a tree—wait—couldn't bears climb?

Weshe charged forward barking madly. The bear snarled and struck out at him with a big claw-studded paw. “Weshe!” Darting back and forth, the little dog kept just out of reach.

The annoyed bear swiped again at Weshe, then reared up on his hind legs and roared, exposing a great mouthful of wicked-looking teeth. Charity's paralysis broke. Bolting past the ferocious creature, she raced off the trail into the trees. Branches snagged her skirts and her hair as her hood flew back, but she tore free and ran on.

Trunks loomed out of the mist ahead of her and just as quickly disappeared behind. She had no idea in what direction her desperate flight carried her. The wet leaves threw her off balance and she latched onto a sapling for support. Without pausing to catch her breath, she sprang away again.

Weshe's baying faded as she rushed headlong through the woods. She thought she heard a musket fire from somewhere behind her, but couldn't be certain. Her chest drummed and her ears pounded.

Not slacking her speed, she shot out from the trees into a rocky clearing. She skidded to a halt, sliding on the loose pebbles underfoot. The ground fell away before her into a deep unexpected ravine. A few scraggly trees and undersized brush grew among the large gray boulders that led up to the brink. Sides heaving, she picked her way to the edge.

Cold rain stung her cheeks and the wind thrashed her skirts as she peered down into the yawning chasm. Clouds shrouded the lofty swells on the other side. Only a bird could bridge the gulf between them. Rivulets of water ran down the sides of the ravine and into the misty hollow below.