Blackbird (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

ADAHYA stopped walking.  He turned, shook his head in disgust.  Knox’s woman was not to be found.  He could hear her, though.  There was no doubt about that.  She had not shut her mouth since leaving the Oneida mission.

This was a mistake.  He should not have agreed to take her to Fort Ontario.  He wanted Knox, and Colonel Butler wanted Knox.  This woman was not Knox.  He should have tomahawked her back at the mission.

Her hair was dark like a raven’s wing.  He could not guess its length due to the hideously tight bun she wore it in, but it appeared to be handsome like a Hodenosaunee woman’s hair.  It would bring a steep price at the fort.  But not as steep a price as Knox would bring alive and unharmed.  Knox would bring great rewards: tomahawks, trade goods, guns perhaps.  Colonel Butler knew the trouble the reverend was stirring by bribing the Oneidas, and Butler was willing to pay highly for him.  Knox’s evil works were destroying the dreams of the Great King across the Sea and the peace the Hodenosaunee had sewn into the hearts and minds of the Iroquois brothers.  Colonel Butler and the soldiers of the Great King across the Sea would kill Knox on the grounds of treason.

They would do the same to Knox’s woman, of course.

Adahya wondered how much reward she would bring to him and to his people.  She seemed to know a great deal about the war and about the Oneidas.  She had even known that Ganeagaono meant the People of the Flint, or Mohawk, as the white eyes called them.  It had not taken him long to realize that she knew little of the Hodenosaunee language, as she had not responded to any of the insults he had heaped on her, but Knox had assisted her in his twisted ways--that was certain.  And she had shown him documents that she said proved Knox’s treason.  Adahya could not read them.  He had never been taught to decipher their paper language, but he believed she was ignorant enough to disclose what they recorded.

Adahya smiled.  Perhaps with her ignorance and her never ceasing mouth, she would bring as much reward to his people as Knox would have.  He could then go back for Knox and double his profit.  Regardless, it would be good to have the white woman’s mouth quieted forever.

He retraced his steps a few yards and found the woman struggling to lift her valise over a fallen log.  His eyes gazed over her.  She wore a light blue muslin skirt and laced bodice which fit tightly over ample breasts.  She was taller than Hodenosaunee most women and thinner.  Her waist curved in too much for his taste.  She wore too many clothes to see even a hint of her legs, but he guessed they would be as bony as the rest of her.  Other than her hair color, she was not attractive.  Her skin was too white, and her eyes, which he did not know exactly what shade they were for they were not worth scrutiny, were too light.

“If you do not walk faster, woman, I will leave you to the wolves.”

“If you would help me, I could walk faster.  What kind of man are you to make me carry this heavy bag?”

Her tone was angry, but Adahya was unaffected.  She was spoiled and lazy like all white women.  “Hodenosaunee women carry five times your load without complaint.”

“I’m not an Indian woman!”

“That is your misfortune.”  He turned his back to her and began walking on without her.

She hollered something about how rude he was, but he ignored her.  When she still had not caught up with him, he shouted back at her, “Keep moving or I will make you sorry.”

In a few moments she was back within sight.

He smiled.  Let her fear him.  He had taken many French, Huron, and Colonial scalps.  He had caused many women to become widows, but he had never killed a woman.  Even the white ones were vital to mankind.  Women were a sacred life source, regardless of race.

“How long until we reach Fort Ontario?”

“Five sleeps.”

“That long?  I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

“It will be longer if you walk any slower,” he complained.

She was breathing hard, but he was not even winded.  White women disgusted him.  Lazy complainers, the entire lot of them.

As she walked beside him, her big satchel banged him in the leg.  He quickened his pace, every nerve irritated by the wench.

“Do you work for the British?” she asked.

“I serve no one.”

“Then why are you taking me?”

“Because you are Knox’s woman.  Colonel Butler and his men must hear you speak.  They must know how your kind works.  You are like a snake coming between the covenant chain of an alliance forged before my grandfathers’ grandfathers.”

* * *

KATHERINE blinked back her confusion.  She had no idea what he was talking about with covenant chains and alliances, but he was furious, and she did not wish to get him angry enough to harm her. 

It did not matter what this Indian thought of her anyway.  She was going to Fort Ontario to plead her case--Joshua’s case--to the British.  She wondered what they would do when they realized a woman was coming to speak for Joshua.  Would they call her too headstrong for her own good like most men did and refuse to speak with her?  Or would they simply laugh at her and tell her to go find a husband?  She could not let either happen.  She would make them listen.  She would bring honor and recognition to Joshua, and--

And perhaps then he would love her.

Her spirits lifted at the prospect.  She kept up with the Indian’s quick pace, her having to take two steps to his one long, easy stride.  He carried his heavy musket over his shoulder as if it were light as a feather.  He was not perspiring a bit, unlike herself she felt drenched and filthy.

“How is it that you speak English?” she asked.

He said something in his own language.  She could not understand it, but his tone was unmistakably sarcastic. 

She pressed anyway.  “My Oneida students can speak English, but they speak it rather choppy.  Yours is quite fluent.”

When he did not answer, she changed the subject. “Can we stop and rest for a bit?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Do you always order people around?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly angered, Katherine stopped walking.  She found herself in a patch of ferns and defiantly plopped down in the center of them.  Never in all her nineteen years had she let someone control her.  Mama had said her independence came from her father’s Irish blood.  She would often scold her for it, saying she would never find a husband with her attitude.  But Katherine did not care.  She was what she was.  If she was a little too headstrong, so be it.  God had made her that way, and who was she to go against Him?  If she could not be true to herself, what did she have in this world?  Nothing.

She did not know how long she sat there listening to the peaceful songs of the forest birds.  She had begun to think the Indian really had gone on without her when she saw him come back.  His glare was set in annoyance, and she wondered if he was angry enough to beat her.

Before he had time to make up his mind, she stood, valise in hand.  “Well, I feel quite rested now.”  She walked calmly past him, refusing to meet his black glare.  “Let’s be off.”

“We will set camp here,” he announced.  “Gather wood and make a fire.”

Katherine dropped her valise.  Never in her life had anyone ordered her to make a fire or to do any task for that matter.  She had made plenty of fires, and she was not afraid of hard work.  She was the one who had always tended the fireplace when Mama was alive.  But she had never encountered anyone so cold and demanding.

Except when Joshua had said he did not love her.

Defiantly, Katherine folded her arms over her chest.  “I will not.”

The Indian charged her so fast Katherine thought he would strike her.  His glare was cold and hateful.  His nose was hawk like, and his eyes were as black as the fast approaching night.  She stepped back.

“You will build a fire or you will sleep cold.  Your choice.  I am tired of you.”

“Tired of me?”  She’d had enough.  She was tired, filthy, and hungry.  She was not going to take anymore from this vile excuse for a human being.  “Let me tell you who’s tired of whom.  I have been trying to be civil to you since I met you.  I am exhausted from trying to keep up with you.  I have to carry this heavy bag over rocks and trees and brush.  You won’t slow down, and you won’t lift a finger to help me.  You haven’t treated me with an ounce of respect since I met you, and you’re tired of me!  Let me tell you something, Mr.--”

Katherine stopped.  It suddenly dawned on her that she did not even know his name.  “What do you call yourself, anyway?”

“Adahya.”

“Excuse me?”

The Indian stepped back.  “My name is Adahya.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“It is an Algonquin name.  My mother was Algonquin, but she was adopted by the Ganeagaono.  I am of the Turtle Clan.”

Katherine was silent for a moment.  “Adahya,” she repeated, rolling the strange sound over her tongue.  “What does it mean?”

“Lives in the woods.”

“What kind of name is that?”

He turned his back to her and muttered something she could not understand.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to offend you.  I just don’t understand why your mother--Do you live in the woods?”

He flashed a look of annoyance.  Leaning his musket against a tree, he removed a quilled possible bag from his shoulder.  He sat down and rummaged through it as if she were not even there.

Night closed in rapidly on the forest.  The sounds of birds and small animals suddenly seemed very loud.  Katherine had never spent a night without shelter, and the thought of doing so now with this man and a complete stranger suddenly unnerved her.

They had walked all day, but he had not attacked her--yet.  He probably hated her and certainly would have brought harm to her already if that had been his intention.

Somewhat relieved, she thought of building a fire after all and began gathering firewood.  She scurried over fallen logs, picking up small twigs and branches.  She kept him in her sight at all times.  He was eating some jerky which he had taken from his bag.  Katherine’s stomach growled.  She had not eaten since morning.  Did he intend to feed her?  Maybe he was waiting for her to ask. That was something she most certainly would not do.

A bundle of wood in her arms, she dropped them beside the Indian and began arranging them in a small bundle:  leaves first, some dry moss, and small twigs last.

He was watching with unusual interest.  Was it approval in his eyes?  A hint of a grin crossed her face.  She motioned to his satchel.  “Do you have flint in there?”

Wordlessly, he withdrew the flint from his bag.  He watched her as she struck the flint and the tinder began to smolder.  She decided that she did not care if he was listening to her or not and began talking just to offset the silence of the approaching dusk.  “My name is Katherine St. James.  I don’t expect you to care, but I am telling you anyway because it is the proper thing to do.  My mother, God rest her soul, raised me to be better than that.”

The tinder spark danced with the dried moss, and Katherine blew air to feed the flame.  “There.  That’s better.”

“What does it mean?”

He was staring intently at her work on the fire.  “Pardon?”

“Your name.”

Katherine shrugged.

“It must mean something.”  He was looking at her now.