Seneca Surrender (30 page)
“It is.” She reached for it.
But he withdrew it before she could take hold of it.
She gave him a puzzled glance.
His response was a smile. “Come and get it.”
“Sir? ”
With his hand, he urged her to come forward. Again, he held the garment out toward her.
She took a step toward him, another, then she lunged at him, grabbing for the chemise.
But he sidestepped her easily, and caught her so she didn’t fall. He tickled her a little, too, and quite expectedly, she giggled.
“You have to learn to be quicker. Would you like to have another try at it?”
She gave him a wild leer. “I little know if I wish to play this game with you. sir. I seem to be the loser of it.”
“Loser?” He shook his head and smiled at her. “I think you are the winner of all my attention.”
That caused her to laugh again. It was a delight to hear.
“Mr. Thunder, I would like my chemise now.”
“And so you shall have it.” Again he held it out to her. “Miss Sarah, you simply need to be a little faster.”
She shook her head, and he knew she was suppressing a smile. He held the chemise out to her.
“You have to hold it still,” she demanded, “and you can’t jerk it back when I reach for it.”
He extended it from his body. “Do you see, I am holding it still.”
“Yes, you are now. But you have to continue to hold it still, sir. Those are the rules.”
He grinned at her. “And so I am holding it still for you.”
She made to reach for it, but again he quickly moved it out of range.
“Sir, I said you had to hold it still.”
“I was. I am,” he said. “It was the fault of the wind, which moved my arm.”
She sighed. “I fear the chemise is not to be seen on my body while I swim with you, is it?”
“I have no say over that, Miss Sarah. You have only to reach for it … and beat me.”
She laughed. “It doesn’t appear that this is going to happen, and I think I should take that swim while my body is still used to the temperature of the water, and while we still have light to see by. Already the sun is disappearing in the western sky.”
“Then come,” he said. “Let’s swim before you get too cold, and while I can still look at you to my fill.” He rushed toward her and took hold of her hand with his own—the hand that was holding the chemise. Quickly she grabbed it from him and slipped it over her head, letting it fall to its full length, which came to mid-calf on her.
She said, “Thank you, sir.”
“You are welcome. But come, let’s take that swim.”
As he’dpromised, he washed her hair with the goldenrod flowers, which he’d rubbed in his hands with water until they made a paste that could be spread through the hair.
“It’s best to dry the plant first and then make the soap from that. But this will work,” he’d said.
They’d washed each other’s hair, and Sarah had curiously asked about the common Indian hairstyle of the Iroquois, the one known to most as the mohawk.
He’d run his hand over the top of his head, then said, “This is called the scalp lock, and it is a dare to the enemy. Most tribes take scalps to prove the accuracy of their war deeds. They are like the Englishman’s metals, and they are honored in the same way.”
“However,” she commented, “one is bloody, and the other is not.”
“Yet, they are obtained in the same manner, Miss Sarah, and for the same reason—war,” he’d countered. “And war is not without blood. Perhaps the Indian way is better, because it is a reminder that the token is taken by sacrificing the life of another.”
Sarah didn’t have an instant reply to that, and so they’d fallen back into their animated romp in the water, mostly playing tag and splashing one another, for the water was only deep in particular places, which didn’t allow for actual swimming. But it didn’t matter. It was a perfect end to a memorable evening.
Indeed, she’d had so much fun, she’d almost forgotten about the torture. Almost.
The evening shadows finally chased the two of them from the water—that and the cold wind that arrived with the night air. By the time they were ready to leave, Sarah had discovered that her clothes were dry and she hurriedly slipped them on before White Thunder had the opportunity to get at them before her and tease her. At last she was fully dressed. It felt good.
“I’m hungry,” she said as they began climbing up the slope that led to the summit, where they had set up camp. “What’s for supper?”
“I fear we are still eating a diet of dried meat and berries. Perhaps tomorrow I might hunt and we will fix some fresh meat.”
“I think dried meat and berries sound delicious.” She followed him up the slope, placing her feet in the same footholds he’d made.
Before they reached the top, however, he turned to her and signaled her to silence and to remain where she was. Oh, no. Now what? Were they never to escape the enemy?
Her heartbeat picked up enough speed that she could hear its beating in her ears. Her stomach twisted as she watched White Thunder crawl up the remaining incline of the slope, watched as he quietly, carefully took out his tomahawk and took aim.
He let the projectile go and she heard a dull thump and the cry of whatever life he’d hit.
White Thunder turned back toward her, and signaled her to follow him on up the slope. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. She did as requested, dreading what she might find but knowing it had to be done.
White Thunder was grinning at her as she caught up to him, and he held out his hand to her. He said, “The Creator must have heard us speaking of our dull supper. Do you see what He put here, awaiting us?”
It was a deer, a buck.
“We will have fresh meat tonight.”
To Sarah, whose duties had never included kitchen activities, the idea of skinning and preparing the meat was neither appealing nor even appetizing. Even that first time when he’d brought a deer to the cave, she hadn’t helped him then. She had watched. But that was past, and she’d be darned now if she’d let him know that the task was hardly pleasant.
She grinned at him as though he might have presented her with a jeweled ring. “It’s wonderful,” she said. “We can make more dry meat.”
“We can, but first there are parts of the animal that have to be eaten fresh after it is killed. The liver is one of those. We’ll eat that tonight and make dry meat tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes,” said Sarah, who hoped she was feigning the same sort of enthusiasm for the task as White Thunder.
They set to work over the deer, and to Sarah’s amazement, she discovered it wasn’t as gruesome as she had thought. Indeed, with White Thunder at her side, she enjoyed the evening very much.
Twenty-one
The black-painted face of the Ottawa hung in mid-air in front of her. It had arms that reached out to grab her and sharp teeth to bite her. Inch by slow inch it cut her skin, taking part of it off, as though the Indian were skinning a deer.It said, “I will make this into a robe for John Rathburn, who will enjoy it because it is made from your skin. He will like it because he owns you, body and soul.”“You shall not do this.” Now it was Miss Marisa speaking, who had suddenly appeared in the middle of the Ottawa camp. “Miss Sarah’s parents are guarding her and they will not let you do this to her,” continued Marisa. “Come this way, Mr. and Mrs. Strong.”And then, there they were, Sarah’s parents, staring at her with such loving expressions, they might have been alive. But they weren’t alive. They’d been dead since …Suddenly they were gone. They disappeared, and in their place came the Ottawa warrior once more, knife in hand. Closer and closer he came, and always he smiled. He brandished his weapon in front of her face. Then he reached for her, he cut off part of her hair, then plunged the knife into—
Sarah screamed and screamed and kept on screaming. White Thunder, now awake, sat up and pulled her into his embrace. He said nothing. He simply held her closely, pushing back her hair to caress her.
“It was so real,” she cried. “It was as though he were here again, as though he had come for me.”
White Thunder didn’t reply. Nor did he ask who “he” was; perhaps he knew.
Gradually, he began to rock back and forth with her still in his arms. At length, he said, “It is possible that your body is not in harmony with itself, and that it might need some food and water to bring back its accord. Come, we have food here and water. Eat. Drink. Then let us sleep again—only I think you should remain within my arms for the rest of the night.”
She nodded.
Because all their needs were close to hand, her requirements were met quickly. But Sarah was far from ready to go back to sleep. She was too frightened. Still, she settled back down, hoping against hope that because White Thunder’s arms were around her, she would simply drift off to sleep again.
However, it wasn’t to be.
White Thunder must have realized this also, because in due time, he spoke to her, saying, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“I … yes. It was the Ottawa, but it was only his head and his arms that threatened me. However, this time he didn’t stop at simply cutting my hair. This time …”
White Thunder’s arms increased their pressure around her. He said, “That time is not now. Though it is possible his spirit might haunt you, the danger from him doing you physical harm is gone.”
“Aye,” she said. “Yes. Because of you, I am still here to speak of this. Again, Mr. Thunder, I thank you.”
He nodded. “Does the Ottawa’s spirit haunt you?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “I’m uncertain how to judge that. But something else happened. I dreamed of my parents, and when I did, something good occurred. My memory of them returned, and …” She fell silent.
“And?” he prompted.
“My full recall has returned to me, sir. I remembered how my parents died, how I came to be an indentured servant and what those two separate experiences have to do with one another. I recalled that Miss Marisa and I were fleeing from Albany, and I remembered why.”
With his arms wrapped securely around her, he nodded, and said, “Go on.”
“It is complex, I fear. My parents were Dutch. They’d owned a farm, a house and had much to live for. They were happy, successful. My father was investing in raising tobacco as a crop, and had borrowed the needed finance for this from John Rathburn. All seemed good until they were raided by ‘Indians,’ who set the farm, the house, the barn and the fields afire. My parents died in those fires. In the end, there was nothing left with which to pay the debt to John Rathburn. No crops, no house, no barn. So Mr. Rathburn took my family’s farm, he took their land and he took me into servitude for twenty years.”
“He is an evil man.”
“Yes, sir, I think you’re right. But the terrible part is that through Marisa, I came to learn that it was most likely not Indians who started the fires that night, but Mr. Rathburn, himself, or people he had hired to do the deed for him. In other words, it was never his intention to help my father. Mr. Rathburn financed my father simply to bankrupt him and take from him what he had.”
“If this be true, then your services to him were obtained through lies.”
“That they were. Unfortunately, it changes nothing in the eyes of the law. I’m still duty-bound to honor my bond, sir, no matter how ill-gotten it was obtained.”
“How can this be if he gained what he did through dishonesty? ”
Sarah tossed her head. “Because it is hard for poor people to fight rich people in court.”
“Then it is a bad system.”
“Perhaps.”
“How is it, then,” he asked, “that you came to be in the woods, so far from your home?”
“That’s another story altogether. Through a series of incidents, Miss Marisa found out what Mr. Rathburn had done, and when she did, she arranged to get me out of John Rathburn’s reach—she was taking me to some friends who live far away from Albany. I think it was her intention that I should serve out the rest of my debt there.”
“And now she, too, is gone from you.” It was not a question.
“Yes.”
He sat silently, as though lost in thought. After a few moments, he said, “All those years ago, when your house was set afire, did you try to stop your mother from going to the aid of your father?”
“That I did. How did you know?”
“Because when you were delirious with fever, you called out to your mother. And I knew there was something that haunted you. Now I understand that it is their deaths that possess you even to this day.”
“Aye, sir, that is true. It is a thing from which I have never recovered.”
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