Authors: Mary Adair
Were not scars on a warrior's body beautiful to behold? Were they no proof of his strength and cunning? Deer had fought the evil of the white man's disease and had lived. Was not the scars proof of his strength?
But the scars ran deep within Deer. They touched his soul and lay heavy in his heart. To him they were not beautiful. They were a warning. The People were allowing too many of the white man's ways into their lives.
Only Panther had ever urged them to keep sacred their ways. All other white men tried to tell them that their ways were not correct, that they were uncivilized and unclean in the eyes of the Great Spirit.
How could their ways not be correct? The Principal People were one with their brothers and sisters of nature. They cared for one another; sustained one another. They listened to the spirits of the air and followed their dreams. The People had been happy in their existence, as had been their fathers and there fathers before them.
The white man spoke only lies and Deer knew within his heart that this was only one of many evils to come to them from the white man. There would be more to follow. The scars on his body were not a declaration of a battle fought and won, but of a battle lost and prisoners marked. Deer knew he did not have the strength in his heart to go on.
He raised a trembling hand to his deformed face, a face that had once been more beautiful than any other. A face that held eyes that were as sharp as an eagle's, a nose that was broad and proud, lips that were well defined, full and ever truthful in the words that they spoke.
He felt the moisture on his cheeks as his fingertips roamed over the dips and hollows of his once smooth skin. No longer would he be able to stand proud among his people.
The scars would cause them to turn their faces at the sight of him. The children would run in fear of the one they used to pretend to be in their games of war. No longer would he be Silent Deer, most beloved and beautiful warrior. He had been made ugly and unclean by the white man's filthy disease.
His eyes searched the dark interior of the lodge. He stepped over the prone body of the one sent to guard him from himself. Yellow Blanket would wake up soon; he had to finish this now.
His numbed fingers slid around a vertical pole in the wall to wrap around another pole he had long ago hidden there. It was his remembrance stick.
He ran his hands along the carving on the hard wood. His first hunt was there, his rights to manhood, the first time he'd seen Morning Star. He would have offered a bride price for her this spring. A smile curved his swollen lips.
Maybe he would have kidnapped her, the way Panther had taken New Moon. Morning Star had such a sweet heart; she would have liked that. He drew in a ragged breath. He did not know if Star had survived the evil that the white man caused to befall them. And if she did live, would she turn from him because of his disfigurement or because of her own?
Deer wedged one end of the long remembrance stick into the ground and tilted the pointed end until it touched him at the base of his chest where his ribs came together.
A tear slid down his face as his hand stroked one last time along a stick of remembrance that held all the dreams and hopes of one young warrior, for himself and for his people.
Chapter Twenty-seven
James rode slowly up the bend that led to Beau and Rain's home. It was Indian summer and the bite of frost hung in the morning air. He shivered. It was the emptiness in his heart that made him feel cold. He should have been able to enjoy the crisp air, the sounds of raccoon chatter before they settled down for the day, the sounds of birds chirping as they greet the sun. None of these things held pleasure for him today.
He saw smoke curling above the treetops. Rain and New Moon were preparing breakfast. New Moon would be as glad to see him as he would her. He needed her. He needed her to heal his wounds and comfort his soul.
He wondered about the baby who would have been born by now, and smiled. His baby would help his heart to heal. He nudged Eagle to a faster pace. This journey had taken too long.
Beau waited a few feet from the house. Panther pulled in on the reins and looked down at him. The look on Beau's face told him he would not like what he was about to hear.
"Where is New Moon?"
"She's inside. I didn't want to be the one to tell you this Colonel..."
James drew in a deep breath as he tilted his head back and looked up at the slowly drifting clouds. "It's the baby, isn't it, Beau?"
"The child lived for ten days. She was just too small and weak to survive. It's best this way."
Hot tears rolled uncontrolled down James' cheeks as he thought of New Moon. She had suffered so much, lost so much. He should have been here with her. Swinging one leg over his mount's neck and slid down to the ground.
"Take me to the grave." James dropped the reins and followed Beau from the clearing and a short way into the forest where a small pile of rocks marked the tiny grave.
A vision of
Akachee's
hands, fingers sawed off in sorrow, came to James. "You didn't let her…I mean she didn't…hurt herself?"
"No. She didn't. But she's taking it pretty hard." In silence the two looked down at the small pile of rocks. James knelt down and placed a hand to one of the smooth stones. His tiny daughter lay beneath the hard, cold stone.
"It's all just so unfair," Beau mumbled mostly to himself.
James rose up and let his eyes skim over the horizon. "Whoever told you life was fair? It's only life and death. Anything in between is what you make of it."
James turned and walked from the grave. He would bring New Moon back next spring to retrieve the bones of their daughter, if that was what she wanted.
He and Beau walked to the small cabin. His soft moccasins made no sound as he stepped onto the porch. It seemed appropriate. The only sounds of mourning for his daughter were the sad chirping of a cricket, and the haunting cry of a
faraway whippoorwill.
New Moon saw Panther's shadow and felt his presence behind her. Would he hate her because of their daughter's death? Would he blame her strong spirit? She placed the wooden bowls she had just washed on the shelf in front of her and turned to face her husband. Panther stood so stiff, so far removed.
Her heart lurched and she almost lost her composure. So badly she wanted him to hold out his arms to her. She did not feel like a warrior now. She only wanted to be Panther's woman. She wanted to fly into his arms and for him to hold her tightly against his chest and ease all the pain, but he didn't offer her the comfort of his arms.
New Moon wrapped her own arms around herself and raised her chin the way she always did when she felt threatened.
James let his eyes drink her in. She was thin, too thin. Her black eyes looked too large for her face. James saw the slight tremble of her lip and wanted to rush to her, to take her in his arms and make all her hurt go away. But he couldn't make her hurt go away any more than he could make his own feelings disappear.
He saw the tilt of her chin and his gut tightened with sorrow. She blamed him for making her leave her home. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she refused to come to him.
Gentle Rain looked from one to the other. "New Moon is ready to go," she offered into the uncomfortable space.
"You have honored us by allowing New Moon to stay in your lodge," James answered, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears, but he meant what he said.
Gentle Rain lowered her lashes in acceptance of the compliment.
"Come New Moon," he continued, "We have far to go before sunset."
New Moon picked up the heavy buffalo robe, the only thing, other than her baby, that she had brought with her. As she followed Panther from the cabin her gaze drifted toward the woods where her tiny daughter's body lay in the cold soil. Old Woman's words drifted through her mind. "They will take much that is dear to us away."
New Moon knew that her child was not really there beneath the earth, not her spirit, not the part of her that her mother would always carry in her heart. She would draw as much comfort from that thought as she could.
Panther's eyes met hers for a brief moment before he picked her up and sat her onto Eagle's back. Then he swung up behind her and turned Eagle away from the cabin.
New Moon sat straight and stiff until James wrapped his arm around her and pulled her back to rest against his chest. He pulled the robe around them both. She could feel the heat of his body seep through the doeskin she wore and she wanted to turn and wrap her arms about him. She wanted to tell him she was sorry that she had been unable to keep their tiny daughter alive long enough for him to see her.
But she could feel his withdrawal from her. If he would but listen to her she would tell him about the soft black hair that curled about her face and about the tiny full lips that would never suckle at her breast. She bit into her lip as she fought the sobs that wanted so desperately to break free from her heart.
She didn't know what she could or should do. The pain at losing her daughter was great, but even greater was the pain she felt by Panther's rejection. She dreaded returning to Chota Town. She feared there would only be more sorrow there, but she would be home with her people.
She could not understand a white man's withdrawal from pain, and so could not understand why her warrior could not share his pain with her and allow her to share her pain with him.
The only thing, she decided, was to wait. Let him mourn in the way of the white man. Then, maybe, he would turn again to her.
It took many days to reach Chota Town, but finally they were there. Eagle plodded slowly through the gate. New Moon tried not to look at the charred ruins of the lodges of her friends. The villagers, realizing that she returned without her child, lowered their heads in understanding as they passed. She felt their pain and they felt hers. For the first time since the death of her child she felt comforted.
Eagle stopped in front of their lodge and James slid to the ground. He reached up and helped New Moon down. The silence was slowly killing him. He could no longer take the pain of her silent condemnation. He led Eagle into the small corral as New Moon entered the lodge.
James gripped the wooden gate until his knuckles turned white and began to ache. He could wait no longer for her to come to him.
He turned and walked to the lodge. As he entered New Moon looked up. The anguish she felt showed on her face and he knew it reflected his own pain.
"New Moon."
"Yes, husband."
James ran a trembling hand through his hair. He was so very tired. "I am sorry about the baby. Please don't blame me for sending you away. I could not have survived losing you to the smallpox."
New Moon looked deep into his eyes as she stepped closer. Her own eyes suddenly spilling the tears she had been holding back. "I do not blame you, my beloved," she sobbed and James gathered her into his arms.
"Do not blame yourself," she whispered. "I had to do what was best for our child. It was best that I leave Chota. I would not have left for any other reason."
"Do you hate me for not coming with you?" His hands caressed her back.
"I could never hate you, Panther," his name came out in a soft sigh to be answered by his own deep moan close to her ear.
"I will never send you from me again." He buried his face at the base of her neck as his chest heaved painfully. They held each other as they wept.
New Moon slid her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and firm, her breath intoxicating as she breathed life back into his broken heart.
James was first to break the kiss. "I thought you blamed me. You can't imagine the pain I felt."
"Yes, I can. I felt it too. Our daughter was not happy to be here, but she is happy now. I thought your pain was so great you needed time to forgive me. That is why I held back from you. I wanted to give your heart time to heal."
James rubbed his hands up and down her back, "You are my heart, remember? We will have another daughter, and a son, as many as you want. But never stand back from me, Little Wa-sa. Never hold yourself from me again. If you don't know what I'm thinking, ask me. If you don't know how I'm feeling, ask me. I never want to feel this pain again."
"I promise."
His lips claimed hers with a passion too long withheld. He ravished her mouth while he slid her dress up with trembling hands, and broke the kiss only long enough to slip it over her head and toss it aside.
She placed her hands on his chest and kneaded the strong muscles beneath her fingers. His heart drummed savagely beneath her touch, pounded in response knowing her body burned for him. She was home again.
She melted into his chest as she wrapped her arms about his neck, thinking her legs could not hold her another moment. His hands slipped over
her bottom to the back of her thighs and he lifted her as he pulled her legs around his waist.
"You belong to me, New Moon." He held her tightly. "Say it, New Moon. You belong to me. Say It!"
"I love you, my warrior."
He held her so tightly she could hardly breath. His words were a demand and they were a plea. "Tell me you will never withdraw from me again?"
New Moon could hardly draw breath to answer him. "I will never withdraw from you again."
He lowered her to the ground. She clung to him as he drove into her over and over, pushing them both into a frenzy of passion that drowned out the pain and renewed their souls.
She called out his name over and over until, finally, they both lay exhausted in each other's arms, her legs still tightly gripping his waist.
She had not said the words he desperately needed to hear her say. She held nothing back in her lovemaking. She held nothing back from him at all, except that one tiny part of herself that, without which, he truly had nothing. He tightened his hold on her as a single tear moistened his cheek.