Red Bird's Song (31 page)

"You should have tried harder—"

"Enough, Penashe Pocoun,” an authoritative voice interceded, speaking her Shawnee name.

Any further outcry stilled in Charity's throat as she gazed up at the tall straight figure of an older warrior. His piercing black eyes seemed to search her very soul. She instinctively knew who he was. “Eyes of the Wolf?"

He nodded and the silver cones hanging from his ears bobbed slightly. “You may speak my English name."

"Would you speak mine?"

"If you wish."

She was both afraid and fascinated.

Wicomechee's grandfather knelt beside them. Gray hair fell loosely to his shoulders, the same hue as the silver brooch fastened at the ruffled neck of his green-striped shirt. Like the trader she'd once met, the ornate shirt even had ruffles at the cuffs and was fastened with pewter buttons.

A red breechclout extended below the thigh-length shirt, its fringed edge sewn with white beads. Creamy Elkskin leggings decorated with beads and dyed quills encased his long legs and embellished moccasins shod his feet. In him was blended the distinct garb of a warrior with the regal bearing of a duke, and something more. Here was a far-seeing mystic. She saw the knowledge in his eyes, and also his disapproval.

"My grandson brings a wife of much beauty with too swift a tongue. Do you always speak to him in this way?"

Charity squirmed under his rebuke. “When I'm vexed."

"Are you often vexed?"

Wicomechee drew her into his arms. “
Niwah
is not well and easily distressed,
Nimesoomtha
. The fault is mine. I regret I left her too long on the horse."

She retreated against him. “I'm sorry I spoke as I did."

Eyes of the Wolf was stern. “You must have greater respect for your husband."

Wicomechee spoke in her defense. “She has much."

"Her tongue speaks too freely. She must have more care."

Charity reached out her hand to the intimidating warrior. “I will try,
Nimesoomtha
."

The severity in his face lessened and he took her fingers in his warm grasp. “Your heart is good,
Neetanetha
, my daughter. Do not speak with such haste."

"I did not mean to."

"I see this."

She sensed wisdom, like a spring, welling deep inside him. “What else do you see?"

"Love for the other fills each of you. Shall I tell you of the child you carry?"

"Yes, please."

"In the heat moon you will give birth to a son. His eyes will be colored like the leaves. Your eyes, Red Bird."

She looked expectantly at Wicomechee. “You will like that, won't you?"

He nodded, seemingly intent on his grandfather. “Tell of the child."

"He will be handsome, strong, clever. All you wish for."

She sensed something left unspoken, a somberness hinting in the older man's creased features.

"Will all be well,
Nimesoomtha
?” Wicomechee asked.

"The boy will live, grow to be a man."

Uncertainty clouded her husband's face, as though, he, too, had the same unsettled impression. “What of Red Bird?"

"Her life is in your hands, Wicomechee. I cannot say what you will do."

Charity couldn't fathom what Eyes of the Wolf meant, but she didn't like the grim sense accompanying his revelation.

Wicomechee clutched her to him. “I saved Red Bird's life, more times than one. Never would I harm her."

"I know.” Yet the fathomless eyes held clear warning.

"You see the love I bear her. For her I would die."

Eyes of the Wolf laid a weathered hand on his grandson's shoulder. “For her you must live. Though perhaps not as you would wish."

"What do you mean?"

The inscrutable gaze fixed on Charity. “Your wife has some knowing of what I speak. Do you not, Red Bird?"

The familiar prickle traveled her spine. “You will be tested somehow, Mechee."

Eyes of the Wolf gave a slight nod. “In a small way you have the sight,
Neetanetha
."

"Yet she knows no more than this. Tell me of the test,” Wicomechee pleaded.

"I cannot."

"Cannot, or will not?” Groaning his frustration, Wicomechee buried his face in her hair. “How am I to fight an enemy I cannot see, one I have no knowledge of?"

"You know him well,” Eyes of the Wolf said.

Wicomechee lifted his eyes to his grandfather. “How?"

"The enemy lies within you."

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Chapter Twenty

Wicomechee sat before the fire in the lodge holding Charity as though it might be their final hour. Resolve filled him, and frustration. He wished his grandfather would speak plainly, but Eyes of the Wolf was as he was and Wicomechee could not change him. He glanced up as Waupee lifted the skin at the
wickon's
opening and walked inside.

"I've seen to Stuart and had plenty of help tending the pack ponies."

Charity raised her head from Wicomechee's shoulder. “What of James?"

The child darted in behind Waupee. “Here I am!"

"Easy, lad. You'll collide with something, or someone."

Wicomechee shook his head at the little boy's seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy. “Where did you find him?"

"With Posetha. His mama was feeding him like a stray dog. I left Weshe begging for scraps."

Emma snuggled the baby against her shoulder and patted her back. Lily sat beside Emma, her blue eyes trusting, not filled with the fear Wicomechee had witnessed earlier.

"You should have left James as well,” Emma quipped.

Waupee smiled. “I didn't think it right to inflict him on them quite so soon, though he would have stayed."

Eyes of the Wolf laid his hand on the boy's fair head. “Have you no fear, small one?"

"No sir. I'm gonna be a warrior. They're never afraid."

"Not true. Only a foolish man is without fear."

"Warriors are always brave,” James argued.

"Courage and fear walk the same path."

Finding this insight beyond him, James scurried to the simmering stew. “Can we eat now, Uncle Papa?"

"How have you any room left in that stomach?"

"Children are always hungry,” Eyes of the Wolf said, his gaze lingering on Waupee's little band. “The boy calls you father. The girl also."

"I remind Lily of her father."

"What of this fair wife you brought and the little one?"

"Emma was never my wife,” Waupee admitted. “I took her from another man, now dead. The infant is his."

"Now you speak the truth."

"You knew I lied about her?"

"Also of your love for this woman."

"From the first. I begged her to wed me, but she was afraid,” Waupee explained.

"And now, she is yours?"

Warmth touched Waupee's eyes. “She gave me her pledge."

A smile flickered at his grandfather's mouth. “So, you have a wife not yet taken and three little ones not your own."

Waupee smiled wryly. “True. But I will take her and her daughter shall be mine. The children also, if I'm able to hold on to these I love.” Worry overshadowed the affection in Waupee's face, the same anxiety that afflicted Wicomechee.

"What are my brother and I to do,
Nimesoomtha
?"

His grandfather didn't reply at once, but stood staring into the flames. A sense of expectancy settled over the room. Even James grew quiet and Lily looked questioningly at the solemn assembly. Charity hardly seemed to breathe, and Wicomechee had the sense that Emma and Waupee did the same. His own breath was tight in his throat.

Still, Eyes of the Wolf did not speak. The wind whistled beyond the lodge's fur-draped walls. Wood popped in the fire and he roused as if drawn from a distant place. He looked at Charity. “You know of a prince called Charles Stuart?"

His question took Wicomechee totally by surprise.

She answered in perplexity. “The Scots call him Bonnie Prince Charlie. He wished to be king, but he lost the war."

Eyes of the Wolf nodded. “Waupee admires him much."

"Better him than George the Third who now sits on the throne,” Waupee said.

Eyes of the Wolf spoke quietly. “One day, you will be rid of King George. Did Waupee tell you he named his horse for this Stuart prince?"

"No. Though it makes sense now,” Charity said. “Did you fight for Charles Stuart, Colin?"

"I was too young. My older brother Harry went to Scotland to fight for the prince's cause."

Emma lifted startled eyes. “You never spoke of a brother. Was he killed?"

Bitter lines edged Waupee's mouth. “Injured. Harry survived that bloody defeat at Culloden Moor, but supporters of Charles Stuart were vigorously pursued. He fled to France. Now both my father's sons are fugitives."

The sadness in Waupee was reflected in Eyes of the Wolf. “Like this Stuart prince, my people are defeated by the English. Colonel Bouquet's hand is heavy against us."

Now Wicomechee understood why he spoke as he did. “What will happen,
Nimesoomtha
?"

His knowing gaze touched each one, and came to rest on Wicomechee. “I cannot speak all the Great Spirit has shown to me. Yet I will tell you this. One is coming soon who has the power to aid you, if you agree to his terms."

Wicomechee stiffened. “Are these terms harsh?"

"You may find them so."

Wicomechee smoothed Charity's moist cheeks in an effort to soothe her even as he grappled with his grandfather's baffling prediction. He was ready with all his heart to fight, but
Nimesoomtha
had said this was not the way. Battling for control over debilitating turmoil, he offered the bowl of stew to Charity. She must be prevailed upon to eat.

"Tears will not feed you, Red Bird. Would you have me wed to a shadow?"

"Will I still find myself your wife tomorrow?"

"Do not fear so. Soldiers have not come this far west."

"The English colonel will not send his men to trouble us this night. Have hope,
Neetanetha
,” Eyes of the Wolf said.

At his assurance, she wiped her eyes and studied the steaming bowl in Wicomechee's hand. “I'm too ill to eat."

He held a spoonful to her lips. “It will settle your stomach."

She swallowed reluctantly and slowly ate all that he gave her, even sipping the tea she'd refused. Gradually, her discomfort seemed to ease, though he kept his triumph to himself. Unlike her, the others were downing second portions.

Eyes of the Wolf looked on as they devoured the meal. “You have many mouths to feed, Waupee."

Wicomechee agreed. “He is content to let me feed them."

Waupee lifted his hand in protest. “I tended the horses. They carried much on our journey."

Eyes of the Wolf smiled faintly, his eyes thoughtful. “This liking for horses will serve you well."

"How so?"

"In the time to come."

Waupee shot him a look of frustration. “Again you speak only in part. Why will you not tell us more?"

"You are not yet ready. Shall I tell you a story?"

"The whole story?” Waupee pressed.

"All that has been."

James brightened. “The grandfather man will tell us a story, Lily."

She paused, a spoonful midway to her mouth. “Whose?"

"A good question, small one. I will tell Wicomechee's."

Wicomechee surveyed his grandfather guardedly. “Of what will you speak,
Nimesoomtha
?"

"Your name."

His clenched his fingers as the old ache asserted itself.

Eyes of the Wolf was resolute. “It is time."

Charity seemed puzzled. “Why does this trouble you so?"

Wicomechee made no answer. All eyes targeted him with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Only Eyes of the Wolf's perceptive gaze held understanding, but he, too, was silent.

"Why won't you say?” Charity entreated him.

He sighed, anticipating the questions his reply would prompt. “Wicomechee is not the name chosen for me at birth."

"Why did it change?"

"Something happened.” He wanted to stop with this.

"What was your first name?” she pressed.

"I was called Kitate, the otter, favored by my people as a bearer of good fortune. Only ill came of it."

She considered. “What does Wicomechee mean?"

"His father left him."

Her limited grasp of the language hadn't prepared her for this shocking disclosure. “Who changed your name?"

"Neegah
, my mother, before she died."

"How odd, sad.” Charity turned bewildered eyes to his grandfather. “Pain fills him,
Nimesoomtha
."

The older warrior took a small wooden pipe from his buckskin pouch and lit it in the fire. “Much pain lies in Wicomechee's past. Mine also."

"And in mine,” she said.

"I see this."

"Why speak of the past? Perhaps ‘tis better left alone."

Eyes of the Wolf shook his silver head. “Wicomechee's past is in his future, and yours, Red Bird. Waupee's also is woven together with my grandson's."

"How?” Waupee asked.

"The same thread runs through you both."

"Again you speak in riddles,” Waupee argued.

"Perhaps. Yet it is Wicomechee's story I tell now.” Eyes of the Wolf drew on his pipe and sent a smoke ring drifting overhead. Another ring ascended. His eyes again targeted Wicomechee. “What do you remember of your father?"

Wicomechee's gut was taut and he looked away. “I have no wish to speak of
Notha
."

"Look at me, Wicomechee."

Reluctantly, he met his grandfather's long-sighted gaze. “You have thoughts of your father. Speak these."

"
Notha
was a big man,” Wicomechee said gruffly.

Eyes of the Wolf wasn't to be put off. “All men are large to a child. Yet you are right. You remember more?"

Memories tore at him, more than he could bear to speak.

Charity closed her fingers over his clenched hand. “Please, Mechee. I also wish to hear."

He forced himself to answer her. “
Notha
held me in his arms and spoke of places I do not know and people I have never seen. He wished to show me."