LeClerc 03 - Wild Savage Heart (14 page)

Deep shadows darkened the stream and Molly shivered as she noticed the position of the lowering sun. Night, and the pitiless loneliness it brought, was rapidly descending.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Finish your supper.”

“I am finished.”

“Eat!”

“Then will you leave me alone?”

“That’s a possibility.”

“You mean you won’t badger me to go to bed?”

“You can sit up all night, if you wish.”

“You’re kidding! You won’t insist that it’s time to go to bed?”

“If common sense doesn’t tell you to go to bed then I think your tired body will. You’ve worked hard all day and before long it’s going to insist on rest.”

Stubbornly, Molly raised her chin. “I think I’m the best judge of whether or not I’m tired.” Defiantly she dropped her full plate on the ground. “Or hungry!”

“Then, by all means, stay up.” Hawk grabbed her plate, scraped off the food, and quickly dispatched the evening dishes. Without another word he turned and walked away from camp.

Molly keenly felt his absence, as the night sounds grew threateningly closer. Only the crackle of the fire sounded familiar, but it seemed sinister rather than soothing. She pulled her shawl more firmly around her shoulders, sighing silently with relief when Hawk returned to camp.

Tiny drops of water sparkled with a silver sheen on his midnight black hair, revealing the reason for his disappearance. She watched with faint disbelief as he unrolled his blankets, added more wood to the fire and then stretched out on his bed.

“Remember that morning comes early and you still have logs to chink.” With those final words he rolled to his side, pulled the blanket over his shoulder and closed his eyes.

Molly watched as the new logs caught fire and she waited for Hawk to demand that she go to bed. The night noises, no longer threatening with him in camp, drifted slowly past her ears. In the distance an owl called its eternal question and katydids chirped in a rhythmic cadence. A cool breeze played with tendrils of hair lying on Molly’s neck as a whippoorwill’s plaintive song echoed poignantly through the darkness, needlessly reminding her that she was alone.

Wrapping her arms around her bent legs, Molly rested her chin on her knees. The fire burned low until only glowing embers lit the darkness. Night, once so welcome, was now an enemy to be held at bay. It brought sleep and the promise of dreams, but dreams that were granted only after suffering the nightmare agony of reality.

“Adam,” Molly whispered as her eyes brimmed with tears. She wrapped her arms around her waist as sobs tore through her body. Her shoulders shook with the force of her anguish and she was unaware of making soft whimpering sounds.

Molly went willingly into the powerful arms that tenderly enfolded her. She welcomed the strong beat of his heart beneath her ear as her head leaned against his chest. Hawk neither encouraged nor discouraged her tears, only holding her tightly and offering her whatever comfort she could find from his embrace.

He gently stroked her back, and his breath fell softly against her brow. As her sobs lessened she thought she detected a quiet chant that she more felt than heard. His voice seemed to vibrate through his chest and she became quiet, trying to hear any words that accompanied the tuneless song. Never increasing in volume, it slowly drifted away until it merged with the sounds of the night.

“Once, when I was about five or six, I fell and cut my knee,” he said softly, inviting Molly to share in his memory. “I was living with Luc and Linsey at the time and ran crying to Linsey. She picked me up and held me and dried my tears. Then she bandaged my knee and offered me a cookie to help me forget the pain.” With her head nestled beneath his chin Molly didn’t see Hawk’s gentle smile at the memory.

“Several months later my father had come to get me and I lived for a time at the Shawnee camp. I again fell, this time breaking my arm. I remember crying from pain and fear as I walked back to my father’s lodge. When I got there he ignored the tears and spoke harshly when I cried out in pain as they set my arm.

“When the process was finished and my tears had dried on their own, he informed me that tears were for women. Warriors learned to hide the pain and fear.

“1 never cried again,” he added softly.

“But you were just a baby!” Molly gasped indignantly. “How could he have been so cruel and heartless?”

“Ah, Molly, the Indian way is sometimes so different from the white man’s. When a boy reaches the age of six or seven he is taken away from his mother. He still lives in the same lodge with her but she suddenly treats him differently. He is no longer considered a baby, he is on his way to manhood.”

“But a boy of six is still so little,” she interrupted.

“Maybe a white child, but not an Indian. By that time he is expected to bring in food of some kind. At that age most boys are pretty proficient with a small bow and can kill birds and rabbits. It’s not unheardof for a boy of eight to kill a deer.”

“When did you kill your first deer?” she couldn’t resist asking.

“Seven,” he replied with a shrug, then continued his story. “The time I broke my arm, the Cub and I stayed with the tribe for nearly a year before Luc came and got us.”

“The Cub?”

Again Hawk smiled. “Luc and Linsey’s oldest son. Luc is known as Bear Who Walks Alone. His first son was called the Cub until he outgrew the name,” he answered with a chuckle. “He’s only a few months younger than me and when we were growing up we were inseparable. When my father came to get us we’d spend several months at the village. Finally, usually when Linsey couldn’t stand the separation any longer, Luc would come and get us and we’d stay with them until my father returned for us. We spent our entire childhood first with one and then the other, but always together.”

“It must have been difficult living in both worlds.”

“At times it was confusing, but looking back, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“You miss them.”

“I miss them,” he agreed quietly. Moving carefully, Hawk stood with Molly in his arms and carried her to her bed. He gently lowered her onto the quilts but she grabbed his hand when he started to move away.

“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded softly, the glimmer of tears still painting her cheeks.

“Not yet, Molly, just let me sit down.” He made himself comfortable beside her, holding her hand in both of his.

“Tell me more.”

“A bedtime story?” he questioned, then proceeded to do just that. “An Indian changes his name several times through his life. At birth he is usually given a name by his grandmother or an aunt. As he grows, his name often reflects his maturity, or lack of… sometimes a boy will do something stupid and the other boys will start calling him a derogatory name that will, unfortunately, stick with him for years.

“He selects his true name after the ceremony of manhood. That is most often the name he carries with him throughout his life.”

“I can’t imagine being called anything but Molly!” Interest in a way of life so different from her own was obvious in her voice. “What were your names?”

Hawk was quiet for so long she began to wonder if she had inadvertently asked a question that was disrespectful to him or to his culture.

“That’s a story for another time,” he finally replied.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” he offered with a smile. “But this bedtime story is about a bear and his cub, not a hawk.

“Luc is one of the largest men I’ve ever seen, well suited to his name of Bear. The Cub’s name never changed because it suited him, too, though sometimes it was not used as a compliment. Then one summer he grew taller than the Bear. I thought I’d never meet anyone bigger than the Bear but it seems like the Cub just plain forgot to stop growing.”

“Big, huh?”

“No, he’s more than just big,” he replied with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “When we went to the tailor in Philadelphia the poor man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He’d never made clothing for someone of the Cub’s size.

“Dressed in the clothing of the frontier, the buckskins and moccasins, the Cub was intimidating to strangers. But in city clothing he attracted attention like a runaway buggy. People tripped over their own feet staring at him and the women … ah, the women made complete fools of themselves vying for a chance to arouse his interest.”

“He sounds awful,” she murmured, intimidated by just the thought of the unknown man.

“No, Molly, if you met him you’d quickly realize that the Cub is a man who honors you when he calls you friend.”

She decided to reserve her opinion on that statement. “You said his name changed. What’s he called now?” Molly asked, her eyes growing heavy in spite of her desire to stay awake and listen.

“At his birth his mother named him Daniel, but my people called him Mountain with Voice of Thunder.”

“Well at least the mountain part sounds appropriate,” she whispered drowsily.

“So is the voice of thunder.”

Molly smiled and rolled to her side, pulling Hawk’s hands until her cheek rested against them. The position was awkward for him but he maintained it as he watched her drift in the nether world before sleep.

“More.”

“Another time, Molly,” he murmured. He freed one hand and gently rubbed her back. “Sleep now.”

Once again the sensation of a wordless chant enfolded her in its embrace. She drifted to sleep with the comfort of his hand beneath her cheek and the rhythmic movement of his other hand on her back while the unspoken melody enveloped her in its magic and soothed her spirit.

Molly worked unceasingly from dawn to dark every day. The thought remained in her mind that perhaps, if she tired herself enough, then sleep would come without bringing with it the torment of reality.

Her goal was never achieved.

In spite of bone-weary fatigue, as soon as the sun lowered in the sky, Molly was painfully reminded of Adam’s death. The darkness brought the tears that she successfully controlled during the day.

And the tears brought Hawk.

Each night he would come to her, gather her within the comfort of his arms and hold her until her tears dried. A stranger could be forgiven for thinking they were bitter enemies during the day but as darkness descended he was there with her, sharing her sorrow, offering a part of himself that was unknown to anyone but Molly.

“You never told me what your other names have been,” she commented one night as she wiped the visible traces of tears from her face. “You told me about Bear and the Cub but not about yourself.”

Hawk carefully released her from his embrace and lowered her to her bed. It had become their custom for him to sit beside her and tell her tales of his childhood until she drifted to sleep. She was unaware that he often remained beside her long into the night, soothing her when she cried out in her sleep, watching her with a freedom denied to him during the day.

“Linsey named me Nathan Morning Hawk,” he began, his strong hand carefully holding hers.

“Why? I thought a grandmother or aunt named a new baby.”

“I was born during a measles outbreak in our village. My mother died, as did my grandmother and several aunts.”

“All of them died at the same time?” she asked, appalled.

He nodded in affirmation. “There were over six hundred people in my village, less than a hundred survived the disease.”

“My God …”

“My people cannot tolerate the white man’s diseases. I’ve been told that at my birth Linsey and Bear rushed me away from the village. My father asked her to give me a name and after much thought she decided on Nathan Morning Hawk. Nathan meaning ‘Gift of God,’ Morning was in honor of my mother, and Hawk was chosen because one seemed to guide them to their cabin when they were escaping from the destruction of my village.”

“But I thought Indian names changed?”

“They do, but I never felt a need to change the one Linsey had given me. When I was about sixteen I went through the manhood ceremony. A man usually changes his name at that time, selecting something that has great meaning to him because of the visions he sees during the ceremony.

“I fully expected to return to the camp with a different name. But as the sun rose on the morning of the third day it revealed a hawk resting on a rock near my feet. It sat there for the longest time, showing no fear of me.

“When it finally flew away it headed to the east and I watched it until it disappeared from sight. A short time later it returned, circled above me several times, then flew away again, this time in the opposite direction.

“It told me of my destiny and allowed me to keep Linsey’s choice of names as my own.”

“Told you of your destiny?” Molly smiled a sleepy smile. “How can a hawk tell you anything?”

“That is something, Miss Nosy,” Hawk gently tapped her button nose, “that you will forever wonder about. No warrior ever tells of the things he experiences during his manhood ceremony.”

“You’re only a warrior during the day.” She closed her eyes, holding firmly to his hand with her own.