Cherokee Storm (24 page)

“My aunt goes to the fields early. She asked me to stay with you this morning. I am called Cardinal.”

Cardinal. Shannon's mind went blank. This was Cardinal, the woman Storm Dancer was supposed to marry, her rival. What could she possibly say to her? “You…you are beautiful,” she blurted awkwardly. “I'm sorry. I—”

Cardinal laughed. “You speak our language very well. And you have beauty too. I have never seen a woman with hair like ripe corn.”

“I don't know what to say.”

Cardinal's mouth tightened. “Your war is not with me or my aunt. It is Storm Dancer's mother you must worry about.” She used a wooden paddle to slide a corn cake off the rock and offered the morsel.

Shannon took the cake. It was hot, and she tossed it from hand to hand to avoid burning herself. Cardinal watched her, and Shannon wondered if she was being judged. When she tasted the cake, it was delicious, much better than the ones Oona had made on the cabin hearth. “Oh, it's wonderful.”

“My aunt, Snowberry, is known among the
Tsalagi
for her cooking,” Cardinal said. “If you ask, she will teach you her recipe.”

Shannon swallowed the mouthful of cake. It was sweet and spicy at the same time. She looked up at the stately young woman. “I'm sorry if you were hurt. I never meant to fall in love with him.”

“Perhaps it is better this way. Some think the old women have too much power. It is better if young people make their own choices. I would have married him, but now…” She shrugged. “Now I may choose my own husband.”

After Cardinal had finished baking the corn cakes, she showed Shannon to the women's bathing place in a secluded spot along the creek. No one else was there. “The sun is well up,” Cardinal explained. “Most of the women are in the gardens. I would be there too, but…”

“Go ahead,” Shannon said. “I can find my own way back to the village. It's just through those trees.”

“My aunt asked me to add vegetables to the pot for the noon meal.”

“I can do that for you,” Shannon offered.

Cardinal regarded her coolly. “Do not let the stew burn. Snowberry would be an object of ridicule if her stew is not fit to eat.”

“I won't.”

Nodding, Cardinal turned and hurried along a path that led away from the village. Shannon watched her until she turned a bend and vanished in the trees. The woman had said all the right things, but Shannon wasn't certain if she liked her or not. She would try and reserve judgment until she knew her better.

Shannon bathed and washed her hair quickly, then redressed. She didn't want to be away from the house long. Letting her hostess's meal turn to charcoal wouldn't be a way to return her hospitality.

She'd gone only a few yards along the trail when someone called her name. She glanced back to see Gall limping toward her.

“You are the talk of the village,” he said, when he caught up with her. “Have you faced down the she-bear yet?”

“She-bear?”

He laughed. “My aunt. Storm Dancer's mother. She swore she would not have you here. She is a powerful enemy, my friend. Are you certain you want to go against her to be with her son?”

“I guess I am,” she said. “He told me you were hurt.” She looked at the bandage on his leg. “Are you healing well?”

“The bullet went through without breaking a bone. I am lucky, but not so lucky that I could go with the war party.”

She said nothing.

“You will never be happy here.”

She started walking back toward the village. “I love him, Gall. I think I could learn to be a good Cherokee wife.”

He took hold of her arm. “When winter comes and you go without food, or when we must take up weapons against your people, you may change your mind.” He squeezed. “You don't have to stay here. I could take you east to a settlement before he returns.”

“Gall, you don't understand. I couldn't do that. Whatever happens, I have to work that out with Storm Dancer. I appreciate your—”

He gripped her harder. She winced, and he let go.

“I am your friend, Shannon. I was your father's friend. You forget, I'm half white, myself. Trust me. I'll take you out of here before something bad happens.”

Shannon walked faster. “I appreciate your offer, but I'm never going back. I'll wait for him to return, and if the village won't accept me, maybe we'll go someplace else.”

Gall's face darkened. “You will regret this decision.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But I'm here. His mother will have to deal with me. Where he goes, I go.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you. It never works out. Have you thought of your children? They will be nothing. Not white. Not Cherokee. They will have no place to call home. Believe me, Shannon. I know. Of all people, I know.”

“Then I'll count on you to remain my friend, and to be a friend to any son or daughter that we might have. Can you do that, Gall?”

He stood there as she walked away. She could feel his gaze on her back. First Cardinal and then Gall. Would anyone in this village truly welcome her? Or would she remain what she'd always been—the outsider.

 

Gall caught up with Cardinal at the edge of Firefly's cornfield. Already, thick vines of beans were sprouting and running up the sturdy stalks of corn. In the fields, women and girls laughed and called to each other. Some of the older women were singing a planting song. Gall remained hidden in the trees and called out to her.

“Cardinal.”

“Who is it?” She paused and turned toward him. “Gall? What are you doing here? Is there word from the war party?”

He put a finger to his lips. “I would speak with you in private.”

“I have to help plant the squash seeds.”

“It's about the white woman.”

She came back to join him in the shelter of the cedars. “What is it?” she asked. “What do you want to tell me?”

“It was wrong of my cousin to bring his white whore here to shame you in front of everyone,” he said slyly. “He was meant for you until she lured him away. I can help you.”

“Help me how?” she asked. Her eyes widened with interest.

“If she was dead, he would forget her. He would marry you. The gossips would soon forget the scandal.”

She didn't answer, but she didn't turn away, either. She was interested in what he had to say.

“I will kill her for you.”

“Murder a guest? Why would you do such a thing? And if you did and Storm Dancer found out, he would kill you with his bare hands.”

“He will not find out. If you will bring her to me, in the forest, I will rid you of her. I will push her off Ghost Ledge. She will fall to her death, and Storm Dancer will be free to be with you as his mother wishes.”

“Why? Why would you do such a thing? You do nothing without a reason, Gall. What's in it for you?”

“I think only of our village, of our safety. So long as she is here, our town will be a target for the English. It's better if we get rid of her and make it look like an accident. What do you say?” He smiled at her.

“Murder? It is a thing I must think about. I don't know if I could—”

“Consider it,” he said. “But don't think too long. If we are to do this, it must be soon, before Storm Dancer returns…before he finds a way to make her his wife.”

Shannon carefully added the vegetables to the pot, and when they had cooked through, she moved the coals aside so that the food would remain warm but wouldn't burn. She took a twig broom and swept the hard-packed area in front of the house and tidied the sleeping mats inside.

Around Shannon, the men, and women, and children went about their daily routine, pretending that they didn't see her at all. Young mothers nursed infants and older matrons sewed, gossiped together, and prepared food without glancing Shannon's way. She was certain she must be the object of curiosity, but if so, the population did an excellent job of ignoring her. Not even the village dogs paid her any mind.

Shannon seemed invisible even to the small boys playing in the sand with a toddler at a neighboring cabin or to the sloe-eyed, teenage girl alternately sewing a garment and tending to the children. The boys patiently stacked pinecones as high as they could, so that the baby could knock over the tower again and again. Each time, the barefooted toddler, clad only in a necklace of shells and matching earrings, squealed with delight. As she looked on, sadness welled up in Shannon. She couldn't help remembering an adorable little boy with woodpecker feathers in his hair, a child who would never laugh in the world again.

Across the lane, in front of another lodge, a girl, about five, with huge dark eyes, fed a tame raccoon pieces of bread under the watchful gaze of a smiling grandfather and a lad that Shannon supposed must be an apprentice toolmaker. The older man held arrow shafts over a kettle of boiling water, one by one, to harden them, and then used a stone to smooth and straighten the lengths of wood until they were identical. His assistant, a youth of ten or eleven, kept the fire hot, stacked the arrows, and swept up the shavings.

Determined to prove her worth, Shannon paid close attention to what was going on around her and noticed a dark-skinned woman lift down a clay water jar suspended in a braided rawhide webbing from a tree branch by her doorway. When the woman walked away purposefully, Shannon located a similar container and followed. A short walk through the village and down a hill led to a spring. Again, Shannon waited, and when the woman's pot was full, she filled her own.

The woman averted her eyes, but when Shannon addressed her courteously in Cherokee, the stranger registered fear. She ducked her head and hurried quickly away. Puzzled, Shannon stared after her. The woman hadn't appeared to be Indian at all, but African. Da had said that Virginia and the Carolina slave owners complained that their runaways found sanctuary with the Cherokees. Was that what had frightened her? Was the woman afraid that she would report her presence to the white settlers?

When Shannon entered the town, the woman at the spring had disappeared. She'd hoped to speak to her, to assure her that she meant her no harm. Conscious of many pairs of eyes watching her, Shannon brought back the water and replaced the jar in its leather sling where it would keep cool and free of dust.

Now she was uncertain of what to do. She refused to go into the house and hide, but, after she stirred the stew, she couldn't think of any more chores that needed her attention. The thing she dreaded most was a confrontation with Storm Dancer's mother, so that's what she decided she must do. She must face Firefly and get it over with.

She crossed the lane, went to the nearest woman, and asked where Firefly lived. The old woman chuckled, but pointed to a large lodge that sat apart from the others. When Shannon thanked her and started in that direction, her informant offered, “She may be in the cornfield at this hour.”

Shannon approached Firefly's house. A dog raised its hackles and growled, but Shannon refused to be deterred and ignored the threat. “Hallo,” she called. “Firefly? Are you within?” The deerskin was pushed back, an invitation to enter. “Hallo.”

The interior of the cabin was dark but neat. Standing by the doorway was a water jug with a lid. Shannon looked inside and saw that the water level was low. She took a smaller jug and returned to the spring to fill it. Again, she had the feeling that she was walking a gaunt-let. Everyone watched her, but pretended not to.

As she came back down the wood's path with the water, a tall, elegant beauty in an embroidered red wool dress stepped into the path in front of her. Shannon tried not to be intimidated. At the tavern, she had always been taller than any of the girls, but most of the Cherokee women topped her by inches.

“What do you think you are doing?” the newcomer demanded.

Shannon inspected her closely. Silver cones dangled from her ears, and a six-inch-long engraved silver gorget hung from a chain around her slender neck. Her hair, braided and pinned high into a coronet and decorated with elk teeth, was as black as a crow's wing, her eyes fierce and intelligent. The woman didn't look old enough to be Storm Dancer's mother, but Shannon could see a marked resemblance in the eyes and forehead.

“I have fetched cool water from the spring for you, lady,” Shannon replied in her best Cherokee. She kept her expression and tone smooth.

“And why would you do that?” The yellow dog that had growled at her earlier appeared and ran to the lady, tail wagging.

“Out of respect for who you are.”

“And who do you think I am?”

“The mother of the man I love.”

“Love.” Firefly scoffed. “What does a white woman know of love? If you truly loved him, you would return to your own people and forget you ever knew him.”

Shannon hugged the water pot against her chest. Water had spilled down the sides, and the damp container felt good in the heat of the day. “I didn't want to love him. I fought against it. I even tried to marry a white man.” She shook her head. “I couldn't. Your son holds my heart in his hands.”

“And if the
Tsalagi
make war on the whites? Where will your place be then?”

“Where he is, I will be. His enemies will be mine.”

“He was destined to marry Cardinal. My son was born to serve his clan and nation. If he takes a white-skinned wife, it will shatter the spirits' plan.”

Shannon exhaled softly. “Do you always know what the spirits want?”

Firefly frowned. Her long, graceful fingers touched her throat absently. “No one can always know,” she admitted.

“Then, perhaps, it is their will that I be your son's wife. Maybe that is the way the plan comes together. And we are so small, so insignificant, that we can't see the pattern until it is complete.”

Storm Dancer's mother reached out for the water jar. “My son bade me keep you safe. I told him that I don't want you here, but he has entrusted me with the duty to offer you hospitality.”

“I don't want to be a burden. I will do whatever you ask of me.”

Firefly's eyes flashed. “And if I ask you to give him up and go away?”

“Anything but that.” Shannon released the container. “I didn't want to come here any more than you wanted me. I came for love of Storm Dancer. I know you love him too.”

“I am his mother. He is my only child.”

“So, for his sake, we should try to get along.”

“You speak well for a woman with corn hair and skin like a fish's belly. But many whites say one thing and mean another.” She brushed her throat with her fingertips again. “I am not your friend, daughter of Truth Teller.”

“Not yet. But it may be different in the future. If I give him a child.”

Firefly nodded grudgingly. “There is a slim possibility, very slim, that I may come to accept you. It does not please me, the thought that my grandchildren will be ugly.”

“What child is ugly if it is loved?”

Storm Dancer's mother dismissed her with a haughty sniff. “I will be watching you, yellow hair. If you place a foot wrong, I will know.”

“My name is Shannon.”

“Shan-non.” She shrugged. “White names are like cornhusks blowing across a field. They mean nothing.”

“Not true. My name has as much meaning as yours, lady.”

Firefly's mouth twitched. Shannon wondered if she was suppressing a smile or an oath.

“What does that mean? Shan-non?”

“My father said it was
little wise one.
”

She nodded. “I liked him. He was a good man, your father. A fair trader. Let us hope he was right about that.” Firefly shifted the heavy pot to her hip and pointed across the village. “The cornfields are that way. If you are indeed wise, you will join the other women in the garden. You can help most by ridding our new squash plants of bugs.”

“Please…a question?”

“Yes.” Firefly regarded her coolly. “What is it?”

“I saw a woman earlier, at the spring. Her skin is black.”

“Nesting Swan. What of her?”

“She seemed afraid of me. Is she an escaped slave?”

“No. She is a free woman of the
Tsalagi.
I am surprised that your father never mentioned her. He bought her from a slave catcher for two hands of prime beaver pelts.”

Shannon's stomach twisted. “My father bought a slave? He never told me. Da always said he didn't believe in slavery.”

“He bought Nesting Swan out of pity. She ran from a bad master, but her luck was bad. She had been bitten by a rattlesnake. The white slave catcher thought it better to have good beaver hides than a dying woman.”

“But how did she get here?”

“Winter Fox, my brother, saw her at Truth Teller's post. Your father had saved her from the snake's poison, but your mother was afraid of her. She did not want a black servant. Winter Fox offered to take her as a second wife, and so she came to us.”

“If my father bought her freedom, why is she afraid of me?”

“Nesting Swan is a good woman, but she is fearful of all whites. She does not want anyone to take her from her husband or her children.”

“I would never do anything to hurt her. I want only to be her friend,” Shannon assured her.

Firefly nodded. “I will tell her. But do not expect much. She has good reason to mistrust whites.” She glanced toward the fields. “I have much to do. If you want to help, go and find Snowberry. She will show you where you are most needed in the gardens.”

“Gladly. I'm not a lazy person. I feel better when I'm useful.”

“We will see,” Firefly replied. “In time, we will see what is true and what is not.”

 

Shannon was close enough to the cornfields to hear the women singing when an arm came out of the thickly hanging cedar boughs and seized her. Before she could utter a sound, someone yanked her into the shadows and clapped a hand over her mouth. She struggled, but then she heard Storm Dancer's voice close to her ear.

“Did you think a mountain lion had you?” His mouth came down on hers and she gave herself over to his kiss. Her fear melted into joy at his touch, and she opened like a flower to the thrust of his hard, seeking tongue.

Eventually, they broke for air, and she gasped, “What are you doing here? Has the war party returned? Is the danger over?”

“I wish it were.” He pulled her hard against him and ran warm fingers down her back to cup her buttock. “I've missed you, heart of my heart.”

“You just left.” Excitement made her voice breathy. Heat stirred in the pit of her belly, and her bones felt weak. He was a fever in her blood, this great, handsome man, and she loved him with every fiber of her being.

“Even an hour away from you is too much.”

“But how are you…”

He lowered his head and nuzzled between her breasts. She made a small sound of desire, deep in her throat. “Come with me.”

“To war?”

He laughed, caught her around the waist, and tossed her onto his shoulder. “I have until the sun sets, and then I must take my turn as guard on the pass. Until then, Winter Fox has given me leave to see if his sister has burned you at the stake or dried your hair on a scalp hoop.”

Her heart leaped. “We can be together?” He was here. Why or how didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling of his body pressed against hers. All that mattered was the smell and taste of him. “I don't want to talk about your mother.”

Later she would tell him about her strange meeting with Firefly. She would tell him about Nesting Swan and her father, but not now. Now, this time, so precious, was for them alone.

He laughed. “Neither do I. There is a place nearby that I've wanted to take you.”

“Put me down. I won't try to escape.” She tried to wiggle free, but he clapped a hand on her bottom sharply. His scent filled her head and made her dizzy. He was warm and clean and virile. There was nowhere she would rather be than here.

“I like you better this way. My prisoner.” He leaped ahead, racing through the forest at breakneck speed, and dizzy, she clung to him. Only later, when they reached a steep hill, did he lower her to the ground and clasp her hand in his.

“Trust me?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, I do.” Whenever she saw him, she couldn't help being amazed at his size, at the beauty of his muscled body, at the strength in his long, hard legs and sinewy arms. Today, he wore nothing but his weapons strapped to his gleaming body and a small loincloth and high moccasins.

“Good.” He charged up the incline, dragging her after him.

The way was rock strewn, the footing difficult. When they reached the top, she was breathing hard. “Where are we going?” she asked. The top of the knoll was grassy. She could see a long way over the treetops that seemed to stretch on forever.

“Close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Obey me, woman. You did just say you trusted me.”

Laughing, she did as he ordered.

“Just to be sure.” She gasped as he tied a length of cloth around her head, blocking her vision. He bent down and kissed her again, then whispered, “Now, hold tight. We're going to fly like eagles.”

“What? Are you crazy?”