Wild Ecstasy (17 page)

Mariah gasped and her eyes widened. “You would do that for me? You would take me in? You . . . you would even give me dresses to wear?” she said, her cheeks coloring with an anxious blush. “I can't expect you to be that generous, Abigail. How would I ever repay you?”

“My dear, I must confess I am guilty of being a trifle selfish in my offerings to you,” Abigail said, smiling mischievously at Mariah. “You see, I am always searching for excuses to give parties or hold a grand ball. The fort is a most boring place for married women of breeding! My dear, your entrance into our lives is the perfect reason to give a ball. It will be in your honor. I will show you off to all of the other women at the fort!”

Mariah was stunned at first by this confession, then recognized that Abigail was teasing, and she laughed softly along with her. “But, Abigail, I shall shock all of the women with the length of my hair,” she teased back, finding this sudden lighthearted mood so refreshing.

Then again she was catapulted back to the real world when she thought of her father. “My father,” she said warily. “He will find out. He will come for me.”

“Don't fret, dear,” Abigail said, firming her chin. “My Josiah will handle him.”

“Did I hear my name being spoken in a conversation between two lovely ladies?” Colonel Snelling said, making a grand entrance into the parlor.

Mariah turned with a start, then smiled at Colonel Snelling as he walked stoutly into the room, resplendent in his blue uniform. His red hair was thinning, and she had never thought him particularly handsome, but his winning manner made him friends wherever he went.

His men all looked up to him, appreciating the fact that Colonel Snelling cared little for drills or busy work. Instead, he put them to work on his construction projects when times were quiet. Rather than polishing boots, they built roads; instead of shining buttons they laid stones for new walls.

Colonel Snelling promptly recognized Mariah, and his steps faltered; his smile faded when he caught sight of her hair. He went and stood tall over her, running his long lean fingers through her hair.

“And whom do we blame for this?” he grumbled, his brow furrowed with a deep frown. “But of course, I need not ask. It was your father. He went this far to make you take on the appearance of a man. Damn him. He ought to be horsewhipped!”

“Darling, Mariah has left home,” Abigail said, going to Josiah's side, locking an arm through his. “I have asked her to stay with us. Of course I knew that you would approve.”

Josiah smiled again, and placed a hand to Mariah's cheek. “Our home is yours for as long as you like,” he said softly.

So grateful was she, tears pooled in Mariah's eyes. Yet she did not know how long even this happiness would last.

Always there were truths that would condemn her!

Always!

“Thank you so much,” she murmured. “Thank you both.”

Josiah slipped a silver snuffbox from his inner jacket pocket and opened it. Pinching out a quantity of the brown powder, he dusted it onto the back of his left wrist and drew it up with two quick sniffs.

“Let Abigail take you to the guest room,” he said, slipping the snuffbox back into his pocket. “We'll talk more at length later.”

Abigail took Mariah by the hand and ushered her from the room, down a corridor, up a short flight of stairs, down another corridor, and into a room that took her breath away at first sight. She stepped delicately across the threshold, eyeing the great Tudor oak four-poster bed hung with crewelwork curtains; bamboo-backed chairs that had surely come from China; and hand-painted Chinese wallpaper which lent a gay touch to the room. The lone window was draped with a sheer lacy curtain, drawing Mariah to it, to touch its softness.

“It is all so beautiful,” she said, sighing deeply, yet her thoughts were quickly drawn elsewhere when she looked through the window upon a half-moon shining in the sky, encircled by a great hazy ring. She could not help but wonder if Echohawk was looking at the same moon, perhaps thinking of her.

She looked away from the moon, and then at the sky, which was unsullied by a single cloud. She gazed at the stars, wishing upon them that Echohawk could find it in his heart to recall their moments together. The sincerity of her feelings for him, if he would only let himself believe it, would prove that she was not capable of anything but love for him and for his people.

She felt an arm circle her waist and was drawn back to the present. “My dear, in time you will forget all the ugliness of your past,” Abigail assured her. “I will see to it, Mariah. I promise.”

Sobbing, Mariah turned to Abigail and eased into her embrace, allowing herself to pretend, at least at that moment, that it was her mother who was comforting her.

Chapter 17

—Wordsworth

 

 

 

 

The air was crisp and cool. The autumn leaves had fluttered from the trees to the ground, making a bed of color beneath them. Kneeling beside his father's grave, Echohawk bowed his face into his hands. “
Gee-bah-bah
,” he whispered mournfully. “It has now been fourteen Chippewa sunrises and still I have not been able to place No-din from my mind. How can I continue to love a woman who is my enemy? How?”

Except for the wind whispering in the soft breeze of late afternoon, there was a keen silence.

And then the silence was broken by a sound behind Echohawk. He turned with a start and found himself looking up at Chief Silver Wing.

“My son, I have come to urge you to join the other braves around the council fire in my lodge,” Chief Silver Wing said, placing a solid hand on Echohawk's shoulder. “We have much to discuss and you have an integral role in the discussions. Place all sadnesses from your heart and mingle with your people again. You cannot forget that you are now the leader of your band of Chippewa. They await your guidance. Come. Show them that you are now ready to be their leader again.”

Echohawk moved slowly to his feet and faced Chief Silver Wing with a humility never known to him before. In the elder chief's presence, more and more, Echohawk felt as though he were once again with his father. This chief's heart and thoughts were so much in tune with his father's, it seemed—even including his paternal love of Echohawk.

“It is
because
of my people that I come to commune with my father,” Echohawk finally said. “In life he guided me. Even though he is dead, I still await a vision that he might send to me from the Land of the Hereafter.”

He swallowed hard, then clasped a hand onto Chief Silver Wing's shoulder. “But I now see that it was not necessary to escape here each day, when it was you I could share my thoughts and sorrows with,” he said humbly. “And my
gee-bah-bah
would want that.”

“
Ay-uh
, my son, he would want that,” Chief Silver Wing said thickly. He stepped closer to Echohawk, then quickly embraced him. “Soon you will see the good in life again, if you will just allow it to happen. The woman. You will soon forget the woman.”

Echohawk relished the embrace, closing his eyes; pretending it was his father, then stiffened at the mention of “the woman,” knowing to whom Chief Silver Wing was referring.

No-din.

She was on everyone's mind, it seemed.

He eased from the elder chief's embrace and peered at him through the eyeglasses, finding that each day his eyes were improving, if only slightly. “You have asked me more than once why I called her an enemy,” he said, his voice drawn. “Until now I could not tell you. The anger within my heart was too intense to allow me to discuss her.”

“But now?” Chief Silver Wing said, folding his arms casually across his chest. “You wish to speak of her now?”

“
Ay-uh
, perhaps it is best,” Echohawk said, turning to view the darkening meadow below him, aching inside when he recalled having ridden across that meadow beside No-din, a happiness so keen within him he had feared it would not be everlasting.

And he had been right.

Nothing seemed everlasting for the Chippewa.

Nothing!

“Then I will listen,” Chief Silver Wing said, taking a noble stance beside Echohawk.

“I trusted No-din,” Echohawk gritted out through clenched teeth. “I even gave her my total love!” He turned to Chief Silver Wing. “Though she is not aware of it, I took her as my wife after she shared a feast with me and then my bed. And all along, this woman that I poured out my heart and soul to was guilty of having been a part of the raid that took my father from me!”

Chief Silver Wing's eyes wavered. “She was a part of the raid?” he gasped.

“You saw how I spread ash on her face?” Echohawk said, his voice softening. “It was to see if her face then matched that of the young lad who rode with those who ravaged our village.”

“And it did?” Chief Silver Wing said, his voice showing the strain of the discovery. He kneaded his chin and looked down at the meadow, nodding. “It makes sense now—the way she was dressed when she arrived at our village. And the short hair . . .”

“The way she was dressed when she arrived?” Echohawk said, turning questioning eyes to the chief. “How was she dressed?”

“No one told you?” Chief Silver Wing asked, dropping his hands to his sides.

“I am sure that no one saw the need,” Echohawk said, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me. How was she dressed?”

“In clothes worn by white men,” Chief Silver Wing said solemnly, now recalling Nee-kah's dismay when she discovered that No-din was a girl, not a boy. For a moment he could see the humor in it again and chuckled low. “When Nee-kah saw her undressed and saw her breasts, it gave her quite a fright. She thought it was a boy with breasts.”

Then his brow furrowed into a deep frown. “You say she was among those who raided your village?” he grumbled.

“
Ay-uh
,” Echohawk grumbled back.

“Let us talk more before returning to the council meeting,” Chief Silver Wing said, needing to sort out within his mind the reasoning behind all of No-din's actions. He had seen her as something special—a woman with pride and spirit—but never a woman of deceit!

“Come with me to lower ground,” Chief Silver Wing encouraged him. “Let me get my pipe from my horse. We will share a smoke while we discuss the ‘Woman of the Wind.'”

Echohawk nodded and left the butte with Chief Silver Wing. When they reached their grazing horses, Echohawk took a blanket from his saddlebag and spread it on the ground, then watched Chief Silver Wing's slow, dignified gait as he went to his horse and removed his long-stemmed pipe from a buckskin bag. It was evident to Echohawk that Silver Wing had planned this meeting of minds between just the two of them, for he had brought not only a pipe but also a pouch of tobacco and a case fashioned from stone that carried within its confines a heated coal with which to light the pipe.

When Chief Silver Wing returned, they sat down in a cross-legged fashion on the blanket. Echohawk sat stiffly, his hands resting on his knees, watching the elder chief prepare the pipe for smoking. In the red stone bowl he sprinkled tobacco from its pouch—a mixture of tobacco and the dried and pulverized inner bark of the red willow, known to the Indians as
kini-kinik
, which was like incense, pleasing to the spirits, and useful for attracting their favor.

Echohawk silently admired the chief's pipe. Though it was a peace pipe, it was embellished with the hair of the Chippewa's enemy—the Sioux. This hair had been taken from a fallen warrior, then dyed red and woven along with porcupine quills and eagle feathers around the three-foot-long stem of the pipe. Echohawk knew the workmanship was particularly fine and wondered if Nee-kah had decorated the pipe for her husband.

Echohawk's thoughts would stay away from Mariah for only a short time, and then, as now, his mind would drift back to her and he would be torn with remorse and anger all over again for having loved a woman who proved to be his enemy. He did not see how talking about her to the elder chief was going to change any of his feelings. For fourteen Chippewa sunrises he had awakened with thoughts of her, torn between loving and hating her. How could it be any different today, tomorrow, and many moons to come?

No-din had stolen his heart, and almost his sanity!

Chief Silver Wing could see how Echohawk drifted between being troubled and being angry, then back again to being troubled. He plucked a twig from the ground and leaned it against the hot coal, soon setting it aflame.

Straightening his back, he placed the flame to his tobacco and puffed eagerly on the stem until the smell of burning tobacco filled the evening air with a pleasant sweetness.

He puffed from the pipe for many more breaths, staring at the night shadows thickening in the forest beyond, then pointed the stem north, east, south, and west, and finally toward the sky and the earth, and blew smoke in these six directions.

Silver Wing then passed the pipe on to Echohawk, and he in turn puffed, then pointed it in the same six directions Chief Silver Wing had, before passing it back to the elder chief.

Silver Wing rested the bowl of his pipe on his knee and remained silent a moment longer, not giving way to something so undignified as a smile, but breathing easily.

He then turned to Echohawk, his eyes reflecting his kindness, his warmth for the young chief. “Echohawk, this woman who to the Chippewa is called No-din should not be looked upon with hate or anger,” he said softly. “Remember always that she is the victim of a cruel father. But she is a courageous woman. She fled the life forced on her by a father whose heart is dark. I welcomed her in our village with open arms because I saw much gentleness in her eyes, a reflection of her inner being.” He paused and frowned, contemplating his next words. “Yet you say that she rode with those who ravaged your village. There has to be an explanation which will reveal that her role in the raid was an innocent one.”

“Would you call her innocent if you knew that she fired upon one of my braves?” Echohawk said, seeing it in his mind's eye as though it were happening now.

Chief Silver Wing leaned forward and placed a hand on Echohawk's knee. “Sometimes a gun is fired against another because the life of the one who fires the weapon is threatened,” he said reassuringly. He wanted so badly to find the truth behind No-din's actions, not only to make peace within his own heart about this woman who had become a heroine in his people's eyes but also to soothe Echohawk. He wanted to end Echohawk's torment.

Echohawk gazed into the forest, which was now cloaked in darkness, again reliving that day that would forever haunt him. He recalled the hate he had felt for the young lad who had fired upon his brave, yet he now also recalled that his brave had taken aim on a white man—the man that No-din had defended by shooting the brave.

“That was her father!” Echohawk said, his voice shallow.

He turned quick, wide eyes to Chief Silver Wing. “It had to be her father!” he said anxiously. “She shot the brave to . . . to save her father!”

“So you do see, Echohawk,” Chief Silver Wing said, nodding. “She is a woman of much courage and loyalty. Although she held much resentment against her father, she could not let him die. She shot your brave only because her father's life was in jeopardy.”

Echohawk was alert to Chief Silver Wing's words, himself beginning to see why No-din had been with the raiders. “Her father forced many things upon No-din,” he hissed. “He cut her hair. He made her wear men's clothes.”

He again looked quickly at Silver Wing. “She was also forced to ride with her father to witness the spilling of Chippewa blood.”

Silver Wing nodded, his eyes locked with Echohawk's. “
Ay-uh
,” he said softly. “That is how I also see it.”

“And she fled from her father soon after,” Echohawk said, his heart thundering within his chest at the thought of being freed of all resentments toward No-din.

“It seems so,” Silver Wing said, again nodding. “And so you see, Echohawk, you have been wrong to condemn No-din within your heart.
Her
heart has always been in the right place. With
us
.”

“
Ay-uh
,” Echohawk said, nodding slowly. “I am seeing it all very clearly now.” His eyes widened as another thought grabbed him. “Her father!
He
is the one responsible for my people's sorrow. Do you know him, Silver Wing? Do you know where he makes his residence?”

A warning shot through Silver Wing, who realized that Echohawk was still plotting vengeance whenever he thought about the day of the raid. Silver Wing also felt a deep, burning resentment toward certain white men, yet he had his people's welfare to consider. Once an open war broke out between the Chippewa and
any
white man, no matter that the white man might deserve to die, in the end it would be the red man who would suffer.

“I know of him, and where he resides,” Silver Wing said solemnly. “But I think it best if you do not know. Think peaceful thoughts, my son. Too much Chippewa blood has already been spilled on Mother Earth. Do not let your life be guided by hate and the need of revenge. Put your people first, your hunger for vengeance last.”

“The
ee-szhee-nee-kah-so-win
, name,” Echohawk said flatly. “The location of his dwelling.”

“I will give you what you ask only because I feel honor-bound to share it with you,” Silver Wing said, reaching a hand to Echohawk's shoulder, clasping his fingers gently to it. “His name is Victor Temple. He runs a trading post not far from Fort Snelling. I have never dealt with him because he is a
wah-yah-szhim
, a cheat and a liar. If you insist, I will instruct one of my braves to point out his residence to you. But before I do, promise me that you will only look, not attack.”

“I can promise nothing,” Echohawk said, his voice hard.

Silver Wing's eyes filled with sadness. “You will be shown the location,” he said, sighing heavily.

“That is good,” Echohawk said, nodding.

“No-din,” Silver Wing said. “Have you thought of her? Will you kill her father—a man she defended with such courage?”