Wild Ecstasy (16 page)

Dispirited, she slowly dismounted her horse.

Chapter 16

—Longfellow

 

 

 

Mariah's knees trembled as she stood at the massive front door of the Snelling residence, awaiting a response after having knocked. A new fear suddenly grabbed her. What if Colonel Snelling had found out about her father's raid, and her part in it? What if her father was even now imprisoned at the fort?

She would be walking right into a trap!

Not understanding why she hadn't thought of this possibility before, Mariah turned and began to leave, thinking that she would have to pick up the pieces of her life elsewhere, but stopped dead in her tracks when the door opened and a voice as soft as a summer breeze spoke behind her.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” Abigail Snelling said, stepping out onto the narrow porch.

Her heart pounding, Mariah turned slowly around and faced Abigail, her eyes wavering, fearing a quick tongue-lashing once Mrs. Snelling recognized her.

She squared her shoulders and straightened her back, awaiting Abigail's reaction to seeing her there, herself admiring the colonel's wife, as she had so often in the past.

A woman with the reputation of performing grandly as the commandant's lady, Abigail was beautiful, with raven-haired tresses that nearly reached the ground. She was slender, with an oval face and dancing green eyes with thick lashes shadowing them. She was surely the most lovely of all the women today at the fort, in her highly gathered pale blue velveteen dress with lace at the high collar and at the cuffs of its long sleeves.

Mariah knew firsthand that Abigail was full of compassion, for not long ago, upon discovering that Mariah was a girl instead of a boy, dressed in boy's garb because of a paranoid father, she had scolded Mariah's father almost unmercifully.

“Mariah?” Abigail gasped, paling as she took in Mariah's cropped hair. Her hands crept slowly to it, her lips parted in horror. “Your beautiful hair! Lord, Mariah, did your father . . . ?”

Mariah sighed heavily, relieved that her hair appeared to be the only cause for Abigail's alarm—not that Mariah was a fugitive at her door, asking for asylum!

“Yes, my father cut my hair,” she said softly. “I begged him not to. But . . . but . . . he wouldn't listen.” Her bottom lip stiffened angrily. “Mrs. Snelling, nothing anyone said or did could dissuade my father from wanting to turn me into a man! My being a woman threatened him, somehow.” She lowered her eyes. “He . . . he even burned all of mine and mother's dresses. All that was left of my wardrobe were the horrid men's breeches and shirts.”

Abigail smoothed her fingers over Mariah's hair, tsk-tsking, then placed a gentle hand to Mariah's cheek as she roved her eyes over her attire. “You are not wearing men's clothing today,” she murmured, then gazed into Mariah's sad eyes. “Mariah, you are wearing a buckskin dress—one quite beautifully decorated with beads. Did your father approve of the dress? Perhaps he got it in a trade with the Chippewa?”

Then Abigail placed a hand to her mouth, gasping behind it, her eyes wide with remembrance. “Mariah, I am just now recalling a visit from your father!” she cried. “Seeing your hair cropped short momentarily stole my memory from me.”

“My father was here?” Mariah asked, panic filling her. “When? What did he say?”

“Mariah, he was here at Fort Snelling searching for you,” Abigail said, cocking an eyebrow quizzically. “He did not give any details as to why. After he found out that no one had seen you at the fort, he rode away without any further explanation.”

Tears filled Mariah's eyes; she understood her father's desperation to find her, since he had ruled her life for so long. Upon discovering her gone, he had lost control. Victor Temple was not a man who ever let anyone dictate to him about anything. His alarm was surely not caused by having possibly lost her, but because she had openly defied him by leaving!

Down deep inside himself, he had to know that she had not been abducted . . . that she had left on her own initiative.

“Oh, my dear, you are about to cry,” Abigail said softly, placing an arm around Mariah's waist. “Do come inside my home. Let me get you a lemonade to make you feel better. And then we will talk this out.”

“Thank you,” Mariah said, wiping a tear from her cheek as she was whisked into the parlor.

“I shall return shortly,” Abigail said, guiding Mariah to an upholstered chair that sat before a roaring fire in the massive stone fireplace. “Sit yourself down, dear. You do look in need of my special refreshment.”

For a moment, while awaiting Abigail's return, Mariah was catapulted into another world as she gazed with awe around her at the handsomely furnished sitting parlor. The room, furnished in the best European traditions, bespoke the Snellings' polished tastes. Lemon-colored satin draperies hung at the windows, a thick Brussels carpet covered the floor, and cherrywood tables with marble tops were positioned around the room. A tall clock ticked away time close by; a Latin dictionary stood open on a stand beside a massive oak desk.

Something quite grand grabbed Mariah's full attention.

A piano, she marveled to herself as her eyes locked on the ebony-wood upright that sat against the far wall, a candelabrum, its half-dozen candles burning, gracing its top.

She had only seen pictures of pianos in books, and heard them described by her mother, but never had they seemed as beautiful as the one in the Snelling parlor.

She was tempted to go to it and run her fingers across the keys, but thought better of it when Abigail entered the room carrying a tray which held a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.

“You
will
feel much better after drinking my lemonade,” Abigail said, setting the tray on a table beside Mariah. She enthusiastically poured two glasses of lemonade, handing one to Mariah. She then sat down opposite Mariah, sipping from her own glass.

Although she was hungrier than she was thirsty, both Mariah's tongue and her lips seemed parched from the grueling ride.

And she had never tasted lemonade before!

As the sweet liquid rolled down her throat, her eyes widened. Never in her life had she experienced anything to compare with this delicious drink!

She drank it in fast gulps, then blushed with embarrassment as she took the glass from her lips and noticed Abigail watching her with a soft smile.

“Let me pour you another,” Abigail said, her eyes dancing. She gazed over at her box of imported chocolates, then picked it up and handed it toward Mariah. “And please have a chocolate.”

Mariah's lips parted in another slight gasp as she peered into the box of cream-filled chocolates. She had never seen any such delicacy, much less eaten one.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the one closest to her. “Why, thank you,” she said, plucking the chocolate from the others.

When she placed it between her lips, her taste buds danced wildly, the chocolate even more wonderfully delicious than the lemonade! She chewed it slowly, savoring the taste as long as possible.

“And now more lemonade?” Abigail asked, setting aside the chocolates and again lifting the pitcher.

“Yes, please,” Mariah said, smiling bashfully at Abigail. “It is a most delicious refreshment.”

Not wanting to make a complete fool of herself, Mariah sipped the second glass for a moment, then set it aside. She wanted to get the preliminaries behind her. Rarely had she asked for anything from anyone. Most times she had been forced to just take what had been handed her, which, in truth, had been the bare essentials of everyday life.

“Now, tell me, Mariah, why are you here?” Abigail said, reaching over to pat Mariah's arm. “I will do anything I can to help you.”

Apprehensive, not wanting to reveal any truths to Abigail that might jeopardize her father's welfare, Mariah paused for a moment, then looked wide-eyed at her hostess. “You know how forceful and determined my father is,” she blurted out. “Mrs. Snelling, I . . .”

Abigail reached a hand to Mariah's cheek, within her eyes a deep compassion. “Please call me Abigail,” she murmured. “Being called Mrs. Snelling makes me feel like a stodgy old maid.” She laughed softly. “And, my dear, you know that I am anything but an old maid. I have seven beautiful children.”

Mariah laughed nervously, yet felt wonderfully breezy inside to know that Abigail Snelling would do anything to make a troubled person more comfortable in her presence.

“That is very sweet of you,” Mariah said softly. “I would love to call you by your first name.”

Abigail sat back more comfortably in her chair. “Now, continue with your story,” she said, relaxing her hands on her lap. “I am a very good listener.” She leaned forward and smiled at Mariah. “And I have instructed my servants to keep the children out of the parlor. I feel you do not need their noise while confiding in me.”

Mariah smiled back at her, amazed at the woman's consideration. She then sighed deeply and scooted back in the chair, feeling strangely at home. “I just could not stay with my father any longer,” she said, gazing into the fire, for an instant reflecting on the shared moments beside the fires in Echohawk's wigwam.

“You made this decision after your father cut your hair?” Abigail said, wrenching Mariah's thoughts back to the present.

Mariah looked quickly over at Abigail, troubled that she could get lost in thoughts of Echohawk so easily, when, in truth, she knew that she had to forget him.

“Yes, I left after father cut my hair,” Mariah said in a half-truth. She could never tell Abigail that what had really made her flee her father's wrath was the attack on the innocent Chippewa. At that point she had lost all respect for her father.

“Where did you go?” Abigail asked, her gaze settling on the buckskin dress. She looked back into Mariah's eyes again. “Just before your father left the fort, after discovering you weren't here, he said something about going to check the Indian villages for you.” She paused, then added, “Mariah, have you been with a band of Chippewa? Is that where you got the dress?”

“Yes, I've been with the Chippewa,” Mariah said, lowering her eyes, troubled as to how much more she could reveal to Abigail. Not only was telling too much dangerous, it would also be painful to talk about Echohawk, Chief Silver Wing, and Nee-kah's kindnesses to her.

At this very moment, back at their village, she was looked on as a traitor!

“How did you happen to be there?” Abigail persisted softly. “You . . . you weren't forced, were you? The Chippewa in these parts are known for their civility.”

“And what is said about them is true,” Mariah said, tears burning at the corners of her eyes as, in her mind's eye, she reenacted that fateful day when so many Chippewa had died.

She blinked nervously to erase the painful thoughts, then continued to explain.

“Upon my flight from my father, my horse threw me,” she said. “Nee-kah, the wife of Chief Silver Wing, found me. She took me to their village, where I was treated graciously.”

A sudden thought seized Mariah, making her heart skip a beat. Echohawk could come to Fort Snelling and inform Colonel Snelling of her role in the raid. Abigail could soon lose all belief in her!

Even by now Echohawk could have put two and two together and realized that it was her father who had led the raid. Even now he could be at her father's trading post. Her father could even now be dead!

“Mariah?” Abigail said, reaching to take one of Mariah's hands in hers. “Dear, you have suddenly grown so pale. Is there something more you wish to tell me? I am here to listen. Pour it all out to me. You will feel much better for it.”

“There is nothing more,” Mariah said softly. “I left the Chippewa village to come to you to see if you might assist me in some way, to help me decide what I must do with the rest of my life.”

She swallowed hard, knowing that she would have to live from day to day, praying that Echohawk would not hate her so much that he would come for her and demand that she be handed over to him to be taken back to his people and punished for being a traitor.

Her only hope was that Echohawk would search deeply within his heart and realize that she could never have done anything purposely against his people. Time was her ally, it seemed, for if Echohawk would weigh it all inside his heart, he would know that she was sincere in all of her thoughts and deeds.”

“Perhaps I could work here at Fort Snelling in some capacity,” Mariah suddenly stated. “I can ride a horse and handle firearms as well as any man . . .”

Abigail gasped with horror at Mariah's suggestion. “My dear, I want to hear no more talk of you mingling with the men, behaving as one of them,” she scolded. “You cannot be serious in wanting to continue living the life your father forced upon you—a life that you have rightly fled from.”

She rose from her chair and took Mariah's hands and drew her up before her. She gently embraced Mariah, then held her at arm's length. “My dear, it would delight me to help you,” she murmured. “But in a much different way than you have suggested. You have suffered enough since your mother's death. I demand that you stay with me and Josiah. It would delight us both to have you in our home.”

She reached to Mariah's cheeks and smiled into her eyes. “I will take you to my wardrobe and let you choose the laciest dress that you can find,” she said softly. “Now, do you understand that you are to forget that foolishness about shooting firearms and riding horses? There are better things to do with one's time!”