Twin Willows: A Novel (25 page)

Red Pole watched White Eagle’s preparations with a wary eye. “You have not yet recovered your full strength. Let me go across the O-hio-se-pe with you.”

White Eagle shook his head. “No. I must do this thing as a lone hunter. It is a safer way.”

“No way is safe these days,” Red Pole muttered, disappointed that he would miss what promised to be a great adventure.

White Eagle removed his silver armband, a gift his father had bestowed on him when he had become a warrior. He handed it to Red Pole. “I owe you my life, my brother. You and your people have done much for me. If you want to help me now, go to Shawnee Town. Show this to Tall Oak and tell him all that has passed. Say that soon I bring Willow home.”

“I will do this thing. My mother will want to see this Willow that you called for so often in your fever.”

“Tell her that in good time I bring Willow to her at Chillicothe.”

A fleeting smile crossed Red Pole’s usually serious features. “She will be glad to hear of it.”

Red Pole intended to circle his left bicep with White Eagle’s gift, but to his chagrin, his arm was much smaller and he had to push on the armband to make it stay in place.

“Red Pole is yet young, as I was when first I tried to wear the silver band. You will grow to it,” White Eagle assured him. “Come, it is time to go.”

White Eagle took leave of Black Snake and went to his waiting horse. As he mounted, he looked back toward the chief’s
wegiwa
. Anna stood outside, watching him. She lifted her hand briefly in a half wave, and once more the resemblance between her and Willow struck White Eagle with almost physical force. But no matter how much they looked alike, this one was not his Willow.

Soon I will bring my wife to this place, he thought. When she and An-na meet, all who see them together will wonder
.

But all of that still lay ahead in a future that was not as certain as he might wish. White Eagle reminded himself that he had a long way to go before the thing would come to pass.

For the first part of his journey, White Eagle neither encountered nor heard another human being. From nearly every tree, squirrels chattered in noisy challenge, and at times the underbrush was so heavy that he had to dismount and lead Mishewa, but he continued to follow a small stream that would eventually bring him to the O-hio-se-o-pe, the river that he must cross to find Willow.

When the sun reached the top of the sky, White Eagle stopped to rest in an area rich with persimmon and oak trees. He gathered windfall persimmons and many acorns to supplement the fare Black Snake had given him. Even if he did not yet need more food himself, White Eagle would need provisions for Willow, and it wouldn’t be safe to food-gather once he was in Kan-tuck-e.

At midafternoon, the creek White Eagle followed veered east, near the southern end of the Scioto Trail. He came out at what had been Lower Shawnee Town before the
Shemanese
had destroyed it. There began the Coschocton Trail, which ran north and west. White Eagle planned, when he returned with Willow, to take that trail until it crossed the Kanawha, and thus come to Waccachalla from the east. That way, they would avoid the more heavily traveled Scioto Trail.

Bypassing the ruins of Lower Shawnee Town, White Eagle had just skirted the edge of the trail when he heard distant hoofbeats. He jumped from his horse and crouched behind a screening bush and waited for the party to come into sight. From the sound, he guessed there were no more than three horses, probably only two.
A hunting party, most probably Shawnee
, White Eagle thought. It was unlikely to be
Shemanese;
except for an occasional trader and the men who had taken Willow, whites seldom dared to travel north of the O-hio-se-pe.

The horsemen rode at a deliberate pace, neither fast nor slow, but before they came near enough for him to see them, they stopped.
Maybe they’re looking for the Coshocton Trail
, White Eagle thought. Curious to see who they were, he tied Mishewa to a sapling and made his way on foot toward the horsemen.

They were closer than he’d thought, and he was almost upon them before he realized it. He had judged well; there were only two horses. On one of them, a black stallion, sat a dark-haired
Shemanese
man that White Eagle knew by sight. A red-coat turned trader, he had often come to Shawnee Town, but not for some time. As White Eagle recalled, the man had cheated some village women, and Tall Oak had told him not to return.

The horse behind the trader sidestepped, allowing White Eagle to see the second
Shemanese
, a clean-shaven, slender young man with a great deal of light hair showing under his hat. He sat so high in the saddle that at first White Eagle didn’t see that someone rode behind him—someone in fringed buckskin leggings, someone with long black hair—unmistakably, a young woman.

And not
Shemanese
, either. When the blond man turned in the saddle to speak to her, White Eagle had a glimpse of her face. He blinked and looked again, thinking that his eyes lied to him.

You see Willow everywhere you look
, White Eagle told himself. But when the girl leaned forward and pointed a graceful finger straight ahead as if directing them toward the Scioto Trail, it was all he could do to stay where he was.

It is Willow
, he realized. White Eagle’s heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to run from his hiding place and lift Willow down from the
Shemanese
horse, hold her close, and never let her go again.

But White Eagle did not; he would be foolish to show himself now. The
Shemanese
were heavily armed, and with his wound not yet healed, he was not at his best. If these men held Willow against her will, he would have to fight them both. He well remembered how his first attempt to protect Willow from
Shemanese
had failed. He would not make the same mistake twice.

With his pulse pounding and every sense alert, White Eagle waited to see what would happen next. With relief he noted that Willow wasn’t bound in any way, nor did she look distressed. In fact, even from the distance that separated them, he could see that she appeared to be animated and excited. When she continued to point toward the trail, White Eagle concluded that she must be directing the
Shemanese
toward Waccachalla.

When the blond man turned around again, White Eagle studied his face. He was positive that neither of the men who had taken Willow across the O-hio-se-pe had light hair. Their leader, the one who had probably shot White Eagle, was a bearded older man with once-red hair fading to white. That was the man described by An-na and named by Willow as their father, Ee-an M’night. White Eagle would recognize him on sight. He wondered briefly what had happened that Ee-an M’night was not with Willow now.

Who are these men? Where do they come from? Why is Willow with them?
White Eagle wanted to stay there and fill his eyes with the sight of his beloved, but he feared that Mishewa would whinny when their horses passed. Even as White Eagle turned to retrace his steps, the
Shemanese
urged their mounts to a fast walk, and he had to hurry to reach his horse before they came to his hiding place.

White Eagle’s leg throbbed as he got to Mishewa, barely in time. The horse understood White Eagle’s hand on his muzzle, and he remained quiet and still while the riders passed only a short distance away. He could see their features clearly now. With a surge of joy, White Eagle confirmed that the girl riding behind the blond
Shemanese
was, indeed, his Willow.

He guessed they were taking her back to Waccachalla, and as long as they didn’t harm her, he wouldn’t interfere. If they had anything else in mind, he would fight them—but he would need help.

I shouldn’t have sent Red Pole on to Shawnee Town
, White Eagle thought. Although the boy was young and relatively unproved, the mere sight of a second warrior might make the
Shemanese
turn Willow over to them without bloodshed.

It wasn’t too late to get help. If White Eagle rode hard, he could get back to Chillicothe long before dark. During his time there, White Eagle had met several of Red Pole’s companions, young warriors who would ride with him. The
Shemanese
wouldn’t risk traveling at night; soon they would stop and make camp. White Eagle knew a shorter path through the woods. He and his party would be waiting for them when they turned toward Waccachalla. With his plan thus formed, White Eagle mounted Mishewa and rode hard toward Chillicothe.

K
ANAWHA
T
RAIL

On his first day out of the destroyed Delaware village, Ian was seized with a chill that threatened to shake him from the saddle, forcing him to make a stop. Afraid to build a fire, he wrapped himself in his blanket and shivered through the rest of that day, then passed a bleak and miserable night. He tried to imagine that he and Rebecca sat before a roaring fire in their cabin. Although Ian saw the flames in great detail, they brought no warmth, and thinking of Rebecca made him miss his wife so keenly that he dismissed the vision.

The next morning, groggy from his head cold and weak from lack of food, Ian barely found the strength to pull himself onto his horse. Doggedly he rode on, stopping only when he had to. A day or two later—he wasn’t sure how much time had passed—Ian took heart when he came upon a well-used north-south path.

The Kanawha Trail
, he thought. From the angle of the sun in the sky, he determined that he must cross this trail and head almost due south in order to reach Chillicothe.

When he’d first come to the Ohio Territory, Ian had ranged far to the west, setting traps and occasionally trading with scattered groups of Indians. In those days, all had been glad to see him, happy to get the iron pots, flints, and small trinkets he’d carried on his packhorse. In return, they’d given him their finest pelts. When his horse could hold no more, Ian would go to a trading post on the Ohio River, where he got a good price for the goods. He had traded with many Indians in those days, most as nameless and faceless to him as he was to them.

It was only after he met Silverwillow that Ian began to see the Indians he traded with as people. Now, to distract his attention from his aching joints and swimming head, he thought of those days—among the happiest in his life—and of the daughter that Silverwillow had given him.

No
, he corrected himself.
Daughters
. For their sake, Ian knew he must remain alert and press on.

He neither saw nor heard anyone as he crossed the Kanawha Trail, but not far from it, he almost literally ran into a band of Indians coming from the other direction. Two rode, while three more traveled on foot. The Indians and Ian stopped about ten feet from each other.

In a hoarse voice, Ian addressed them in English. “I am a friend.”

Their leader, an older man with a pockmarked face, looked dubious. “What business has a
Shemanese
here?”

“I seek friends in Chillicothe.”

The men exchanged glances. “Which Chillicothe?” the older one asked.

Ian hesitated. He wished that his fever-clouded mind would think more clearly. He knew there were at least three Shawnee towns named Chillicothe, including the biggest one, the Shawnee capital. But it was not that one he sought. “Near the Scioto,” he said.

The men exchanged glances, then their leader spoke again. “Who these friends?”

Ian felt a moment of panic when he could not recall a single name. “Men I traded with. They know me by sight.”

The leader consulted with his companions, then turned back to Ian.

I don’t like the look on his face
. The thought had scarcely formed in Ian’s mind before the men surged toward him. Quickly they pulled him from his horse, took his weapons, and tied his hands behind him. One of the men mounted Ian’s horse, obviously pleased to have it, and the group once more resumed their journey.

“Where do you take me?” Ian asked, but his captors made no reply.

He raised his head to the sky in silent appeal. Now that he was in the hands of Shawnee who considered him their enemy, Ian had only one thought.

God help me
.

The fall sunset gilded the western sky in shades of pink that gradually deepened to red. White Eagle noted the clouds, not for their beauty, but because they foretold that the next day would dawn fair.

It is good
, White Eagle thought. He would welcome seeing Willow again in any sort of weather, but a clear sky was always a good omen. It would also make it easier to fight, if that proved to be necessary.

As he rode toward Chillicothe, White Eagle wondered where Willow had been living since he’d last seen her, and how the
Shemanese
had treated her. From what he had seen of Willow on the trail, she didn’t seem to be harmed.

This Ee-an M’night, being Willow’s father, might have seen to that
, he thought. Even though the
Shemanese
had apparently never seen Willow until the day he had taken her from White Eagle, the man must have some tender feelings for his own kin.

Imagining the look that would be on Willow’s face when she saw him again, White Eagle smiled to himself. Impatient to reach Chillicothe and find warriors to help him, he prodded his horse to go faster; then abruptly reined Mishewa to a stop when he heard horses coming his way.

Quickly White Eagle rode behind an outcropping of rocks and dismounted. To get a better view, he carefully, using his arms and his one good leg, climbed a nearby maple tree whose varicolored leaves of orange and yellow provided a good screen. Even if someone on the ground looked directly at the tree, White Eagle could not be seen. The muffled hoofbeats of several horses moving slowly grew louder as they approached. From the occasional snapping of twigs, White Eagle guessed that the horses were accompanied by several men on foot. As they neared, the murmur of their conversation also grew louder.

White Eagle held his breath as the party came into sight, then exhaled in relief as he recognized them. Red Pole’s brother Yellow Hawk led the group on horseback, followed by Spotted Beaver and Lame Elk, who also rode. Several others unknown to him walked alongside. Since they wore no war paint, White Eagle assumed they were out to do some night hunting. Then he saw the man who walked between them—a
Shemanese
, with his hands tied behind him. His head was lowered, but as the group came closer, the
Shemanese
looked up. White Eagle saw the man’s face, and gasped.

From his distinctive red hair, White Eagle recognized Ee-an M’night, the man both An-na and Willow named as father, the man who had taken Willow away from him and across the O-hio-se-pe.

This man is foolish if he crossed the river alone
, White Eagle thought. And if he hadn’t been alone, then his companions might be lying in ambush.

From his position in the tree, White Eagle cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a few notes of a peculiar call. To the uninitiated, it would seem only like another common forest sound, but to Shawnees everywhere, it was a useful way to identify one another.

At first the warriors didn’t heed it, but when White Eagle repeated the call, Yellow Hawk stopped and signaled for silence. White Eagle called a third time, and this time Yellow Hawk returned it and added a single note to the end. When White Eagle exactly imitated him, Yellow Hawk spoke in a loud voice.

“Show yourself, Shawnee.”

White Eagle emerged from his hiding place and carefully lowered himself to the ground only a few feet from the party. He raised his right hand with his palm facing them. “Greetings, Yellow Hawk.”

Yellow Hawk stared at White Eagle in astonishment. “Can it be this warrior White Eagle, who my mother restored to his health?”

White Eagle nodded. “Ayee, the same.”

Yellow Hawk looked around warily. “Where is my brother?”

“Red Pole is safe at Shawnee Town.” He pointed to their prisoner. “Where do you go with this
Shemanese?
”

“To Chillicothe. Our chief will decide what to do with him. What about White Eagle? How come you alone in the forest?”

“In a way I have no time to tell now,” White Eagle said. “I would take the
Shemanese
with me.”

Yellow Hawk frowned. “I do not understand this thing. Better that White Eagle go with us to take him to our chief.”

“No. This thing is between me and the
Shemanese
. It does not concern you or your chief.”

“White Eagle, you are a brave warrior, but not yet strong. You cannot travel alone with this
Shemanese
.”

White Eagle impatiently made the cutoff sign. “We waste this daylight in talk. Untie the
Shemanese
.”

Yellow Hawk hesitated, then shrugged and shook his head, clearly conveying the message that if White Eagle came to harm, it wouldn’t be his fault. He unbound his prisoner, who rubbed his chafed wrists and looked warily at White Eagle.

“My rifle—” he began, but Yellow Hawk interrupted.

“We will return the horse,” he said, looking up at Spotted Beaver, who reluctantly slid from the animal he had so recently acquired. “But we keep the
Shemanese
weapons,” said Yellow Hawk.

White Eagle inclined his head. “It is good.” While he thought that he could trust this man who was his Willow’s father, he knew that his companions did not. They all knew
Shemanese
who had pretended to be friends to the Shawnee, only to turn on them and do terrible things.

White Eagle gestured to the
Shemanese
. “Let us go,” he said in English.

“We would know more of this thing,” Yellow Hawk said.

“Ayee. It will be done. Now there is no time.”

Without another word, White Eagle mounted his horse, and with Ian McKnight following on his, headed toward Waccachalla. Soon the the hunting party was far behind.

Ian had recognized the young warrior the instant that he appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and his heart had beat faster at the sight of him. He had no doubt that this was the man who had been with Willow the day he had taken her away.

I don’t wonder that Willow wanted to come back to him
, Ian thought. The Shawnee was handsome, with the kind of commanding presence that could compel others to do his will, even against their own. His captors, who apparently knew the young warrior well, had called him White Eagle.

He’s not a man you would want as your enemy
. Ian realized that the Shawnee would blame him for Willow’s abduction, and he knew that his punishment for taking her probably wouldn’t be light.

I must find some way to make him understand that Willow is safe and that I’m Willow’s father
, he thought.

Ian spoke as forcefully as he could manage through his hoarseness, glad that this warrior understood English. “My name is Ian McKnight. I saw you with Willow on the trail. I am her father.”

White Eagle looked at Ian without surprise. “I know this thing. Why come you here now without Willow?”

Once again, Ian wished that he didn’t feel so lightheaded. He found it hard to frame the right words. “I came in peace to the O-hio to find my other daughter Anna, taken from Kan-tuck-e. When I took Willow, I thought she was Anna.” When White Eagle said nothing, Ian added, “Willow is safe in Kan-tuck-e.”

White Eagle glanced at Ian and shook his head. “This is not so.”

Ian furrowed his brow and tried without success to make sense of the words. “What?”

White Eagle gestured expansively. “Willow here now.”

“How could she get to Ohio?” Ian asked the question as much to himself as to White Eagle.

“
Shemanese
bring her.”

“What
Shemanese?
” At the moment, Ian couldn’t think of anyone at Bryan’s Station who would likely undertake such a mission.

White Eagle shrugged. “You see. Come.”

White Eagle turned into one of the deer traces that made mazes in the forest. He motioned for Ian to watch out for overhead branches, but Ian had already bent low, an automatic response from years of riding in forests.

I hope I can trust this White Eagle
, Ian thought. If anyone could find Anna, it would be this young warrior. He only hoped he could believe that what he said was true: Willow had safely returned from Kentucky and was nearby.

Willow hadn’t wanted to stop at all; she would gladly have traveled all night, if necessary, to get to Waccachalla. But when Stuart signaled that their horses needed a rest, she resigned herself to spending one more night away from the place she had always called home.

In the golden pink twilight, Edward Tucker led them to a place he knew, not on a main trail but reached by following a trace made years ago by thirsty deer and other animals. There, a stream of cold water ran from a limestone spring into a deep pool, before it formed a creek that would eventually find a larger stream before joining the O-hio-se-pe. From her first sight of the
Shemanese
Tucker, Willow had not liked him, but she realized that he seemed to know his way through this land.

If we must stop, this is a good place
, Willow thought. Her mind raced ahead to the next day, when they would reach Waccachalla. Willow imagined herself telling Black Snake about White Eagle and asking him to send word to Shawnee Town that Willow had returned home.

Then White Eagle will come to Waccachalla and we will be together again
.

Rebecca McKnight had provided them with more than enough food to last for several days, and not wanting to draw unwanted attention, the men didn’t make a campfire. Willow began to set out food for their supper. Stuart worked nearby, cutting branches to make their beds, while Edward Tucker tended the horses out of sight of the clearing.

Willow had just knelt by the stream to fill a water bag when a snapping twig made her instantly alert. In the twilight, she looked in the direction of the sound and saw the bulky shapes of two men on horseback, heading straight for their camp.

Before she had time to tell the others, the riders emerged from the underbrush in exactly the same place that Willow’s party had ridden in. She watched as Stuart stood frozen in place, his eyes staring and his mouth agape at the sight of the riders.

Immediately Willow recognized the
Shemanese
Ee-an M’night, the man she now accepted as her father. But then she saw the other, and it was to him that she ran, even as White Eagle dismounted and started toward her.

Wordlessly they clung together, for the moment heedless of anything else but each other.

At the same time, Stuart Martin and Ian McKnight stared at each other for a moment, then cried out the other’s name. Still feeling weak and dizzy, Ian stumbled and would have fallen had not Stuart put out his arm to steady him. He helped Ian to a fallen log and sat down beside him. Both men started to speak at once, then laughed ruefully.