LeClerc 01 - Autumn Ecstasy (30 page)

Bear picked her up and carried her to a shelf. He held her tightly, the baby cradled between them.

“A life was taken, another spared,” he whispered, his voice husky with grief.

“Oh, Bear.” Linsey’s voice was filled with agony. “Why Morning Moon? She was so good, so gentle and sweet. Why did she have to die?”

“I don’t know,
mon ange
.”

Linsey stroked the thick black hair covering the perfectly round head, lightly touching the baby’s downy soft cheek. “She loved her children so much and was so excited about this baby.”

“I think she would be happy to know he lived.”

Linsey shivered, vividly remembering the manner of his birth. “It seemed to brutal. At first I didn’t know what the Grandmother was doing, and I was horrified. Then, when I realized she was trying to save the baby, all I could do was pray she wouldn’t be too late.”

“I admit that I, too, shared your horror,” Bear confessed without shame. “The Grandmother had the courage and wisdom to save the babe when others would have stood back and watched it die. His life will be special; he has already survived when perhaps he shouldn’t have.”

Linsey looked down at the child who slept contentedly in her arms. His tiny face was wrinkled like an old man’s, but it showed the high cheekbones, square jaw and aquiline nose he had inherited from bis father. His full, well-shaped lips and arched brows were Morning Moon’s, and Linsey knew when he smiled anyone who had known her would be reminded of his gentle mother.

Wolf finished his song, caressed his wife for a final time and laid her gently on the bed. He pulled the fur over her head, stood and crossed the room to Linsey. Taking the baby from her arms, he carried the child outside and held him up to the morning sun. Repeating words older than memory, he thanked Manitou for blessing him with a son, promising to teach him of life, helping him to grow into a brave warrior.

Returning to the lodge, he again placed the child in Linsey’s arms.

“What is his name?” she asked.

“I do not know, Summer Eyes,” he replied, shaking his head. “It is usual for the mother or grandmother to give a baby his first name. Later his name will change many times, and they will be of his choosing.”

Linsey still sat on Bear’s lap and Wolf knelt down in front of them. “I ask you, woman of my brother, to name my son.”

“I don’t know what to name a Shawnee baby,” she whispered, bewildered by the thought.

“There is time; let the name come to you. You will know when it is the right one.” Wolf stood, walking to the center of the room. Linsey saw that his limp was more noticeable than usual, as if he were too tired to try to hide it. “I must ask something else of you, my sister. I ask that you take my son away from here. Take him to the cabin with his brother and watch over them until the sickness has left the village.

“Protect my sons for me, Summer Eyes, so that they may live to know tomorrow.”

Linsey nodded, her eyes reflecting the pain she suffered. How much greater was his pain, she wondered. He had lost a wife and child, a mother and father, sister and nephews. Friends he had known all his life lay dead from this white man’s disease.

“I will love them and watch over them until you come.”

“Thank you, my sister.” His gaze met hers, and Linsey almost flinched from the deeply etched agony she saw there.

Linsey laid the baby on the sleeping shelf and gathered the things Morning Moon had prepared for the arrival of her son. The Grandmother returned, carrying several strange items. She told Linsey, through Bear, how to feed the baby, using something that looked suspiciously like a cow udder. Linsey decided she didn’t want to know exactly what it was. All that mattered was that it worked!

Bear carried the blanket filled with the necessary items while Linsey cradled the baby. The sun had cleared the horizon, chasing away the shadows of dawn. The morning breeze was cold, still chilled from the long night, but already the warming rays were promising a day of exceptional beauty. As they walked down the long row of lodges, the sounds of sorrow accompanied their steps. Guilt rode her shoulders for the relief she felt upon leaving the village.

Linsey looked up at the azure sky and saw a hawk floating gracefully on the wind. His wings were wide spread, gliding in effortless circles far above them, carefree of the tragedy below, determinedly searching for his next meal or perhaps simply enjoying the gift of flight. She envied the great bird his freedom from the tortures of losing a friend or loved one.

When they reached the hill overlooking the village, they stopped and looked down on the peaceful scene. It was difficult to believe the horror hidden there.

“When will it stop?” she whispered.

“I didn’t tell you earlier — there just wasn’t any time — but I think a few of the people are surviving. Once the rash breaks out, the fever goes down and quickly disappears. So far only three or four have lived that long, and they’re still pretty weak; but they may make it.”

“Thank God.”

He touched her arm and motioned for her to go on. Walking side-by-side under the quiet trees, Linsey tried not to question why Morning Moon couldn’t have been one of those survivors.

“I’ll make sure you and the children are settled, then I’ll go back,” Bear said as they approached the cabin. “I don’t know how long it will be before I return, but I’ll ask Kaleb to stay.”

Linsey nodded, knowing beforehand that he would return. She would never have left if it had not been for the children and Wolf’s plea that she protect them.

“That’s not necessary. We will be all right without Kaleb.”

“Please? Kaleb is for me. I need to know he’s here with you, or I’ll spend all my time wondering if you’re all right.”

The cabin was a welcome sight, beckoning to them from its clearing. Smoke poured lazily from the chimney and a robin perched on the pitched roof squawked at them. It looked so blessedly normal, offering peace from the tragedy they suffered. It was home.

“Kaleb!” Bear knew better than to enter even his own cabin without warning the old man inside.

Kaleb opened the door, Chattering Squirrel clutching tightly to his fringed pant leg. “Din’t look fer ya back so soon.” His eyes lowered to the bundle in Linsey’s arms.

“I brought Linsey and the babe here,” Bear replied, reaching down to pick up Chattering Squirrel. “The babe is his brother.”

“Morning Moon?”

Bear shook his head as he followed Linsey inside. Chattering Squirrel buried his face in Bear’s neck, peeking shyly at Linsey and the bundle in her arms. She sat down at the table and placed the baby on her lap.

“Come meet your new brother,” she invited softly. “He’s very tiny, and I’ll need you to help me take care of him.”

Bear placed Squirrel on his feet and gave him a gentle shove toward her. She folded back the heavy blanket, exposing the tiny baby.

“Bro’er?” Chattering Squirrel asked, hesitant to approach too closely.

“Brother,” Linsey repeated clearly. “Come here, sweetheart.” She held out her free hand.

Chattering Squirrel moved closer, step by slow step, his dark eyes huge with curiosity. He placed his chubby hand in hers. When she pulled him nearer, Linsey wrapped her arm around him, kissing his head and hugging him tightly.

“Me bro’er?” With one finger he touched the baby’s foot, snapping his hand back when the infant moved. When he realized what he’d done, Chattering Squirrel touched the baby again, giggling merrily when the tiny foot kicked.

The sound of the childish giggle captured the three adults; their eyes met. In the tragedy of death, a child was born; his brother greeted him with sparkling eyes filled with mischief.

They shared the thought that nothing ends; it only begins again with the young.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The open shutter allowed the late afternoon breeze to drift into the cabin. The songs of the birds filled the air with joyful noise as they darted busily from tree to tree, preparing their nest for the eggs that would soon be laid.

Nearly lost in the center of the huge bed, the still unnamed baby slept with knees folded beneath his chest and bottom in the air, undisturbed by the frequent giggles from his older brother.

Linsey and the children had been by themselves since Kaleb had left at sunrise the morning before. He’d been very mysterious about his mission, saying only that he would be back in two days but she wasn’t to be concerned if it took him longer.

The boys kept her busy, giving her little opportunity for a moment to herself. It seemed to her that when Chattering Squirrel slept, the baby was awake, and when the baby slept, Chattering Squirrel was awake. Her respect for mothers with several children grew daily as she discovered that for each problem solved two more sprung up. Linsey had never guessed being a mother was such hard work! Morning Moon had made it appear so easy!

On the rare occasions when both children slept, Linsey’s thoughts turned to Bear. She missed him, Lord how she missed him! When the nightmares disturbed her sleep and she woke, knowing the nightmares were real and would not go away with the rising of the sun, Linsey longed to reach for Bear. She wanted him to hold her against his massive body and kiss away the horror that would always be a part of her.

He had not returned since leaving them at the cabin five days earlier. Kaleb had visited the village once, returning with the news that the death toll was still climbing but several of the people looked like they might live.

“Whas ‘at?” Chattering Squirrel asked, his alert gaze turning to the open window.

Linsey looked up from the corn bread batter she was mixing and listened to the chiming of a bell followed by a baaing bleat. “I’m not sure, but it sounds like it’s coming this way.”

Squirrel hurried to the door on chubby legs, stretching to reach the rope that was well above his head.

“Out?” He turned dark, pleading eyes toward Linsey, then tried the new word she had taught him. “Preeze?”

“You think that word and those big eyes will get you anything you want, don’t you?”

Chattering Squirrel batted his long lashes, his head held at an angle. “Preeze? Me out?”

“You’re probably right.” Muttering to herself, she wiped the cornmeal from her hands and walked to the door. “Who could resist you when j’ou turn on the charm?”

She ruffled his thick hair and pulled open the door.

Chattering Squirrel darted outside, skidding to a halt when he saw Kaleb coming up the trail followed by a strange creature tied with a rope.

“Whas ‘at?!” His eyes were huge, and he darted behind Linsey, peeking from the safety of her legs. “Kaleb, a goat! Where ever did you find it?”

“Howdy, gal. You ‘an the babes all right?”

“We’re fine, Kaleb. Now tell me, where did you get the goat?”

Kaleb tied the animal to a tree, lowered his pack and reached for Chattering Squirrel. He tickled the plump belly, and Squirrel giggled but kept his eyes on the goat.

“Thar’s a family what settled down aways. Met ‘em last fall and ‘membered they had several goats. Thought that young’un in thar would soon need some’in more ta eat than that sugar tit, so I paid ‘em a little visit. This here nanny is real fresh; dropped a set of twins three or fours weeks back.”

“You bought a goat?”

“Naw, onct I told ‘em ‘bout the babe’s ma a’dying they let me borry hit. Gotta bottle with a nipple in my pack. The missus said hit’d be easier fer ya ta feed the babe with hit.” He looked at Linsey, fighting to hide a smile. “Ever milked a goat?”

“No …” she replied hesitantly.

“‘Bout time ya larned, gal.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that!”

“Whas ‘at?” Chattering Squirrel asked, getting Kaleb’s attention by pulling firmly on his beard.

“That thar’s a goat, boy.” Kaleb carried the child over to the animal. When he saw Linsey’s leary expression, he stopped to reassure her. “This nanny is used ta young’uns. The folks had at least six with ‘nother on hits way ‘bout any time.”

“At least six? Don’t you know for sure?”

“Gal, with that many young’uns runnin’

‘round, hits plumb hard not ta count the same one more’n once!”

Linsey shook her head with amusement and watched as Kaleb patiently introduced Chattering Squirrel to the animal. Squirrel hesitantly reached out to rub the long nose, and the goat nibbled on his fingers.

“Bite! Me hurt!” Squirrel held his grubby hand in front of Kaleb’s face to show him the imaginary injury.

“She ain’t gonna bite ya, boy. She’s just a’tastin’ ya a little.”

“No bite, goat,” Chattering Squirrel turned to the animal, scolding it. “Bad, bite hurts!”

“Where’d he hear that?” Kaleb asked Linsey.

“He sampled his little brother this morning,” she replied with a shrug. “Are you sure the goat won’t hurt him?”

“All goats like ta take a little taste now en then, but hit don’t hurt none. Feels kinda like a tickle.” Kaleb set the toddler on his feet and walked toward her. “I’ll milk her fer tonight, tomorry we’ll teach ya how hits done.”