Wild Ecstasy (10 page)

“I know he doesn't hate me,” she cried to herself. “He just wants to so badly, he won't allow himself to give me a chance!”

When she heard hoofbeats passing by just outside of her wigwam, Mariah went listlessly to the entrance flap, lifted it, and peered out. She wiped tears from her eyes as she watched Echohawk riding by, flanked on each side by two braves, who were keeping a close eye on him, lest he should start to fall from the horse in his weakness.

A deep sadness engulfed her as she went back to the fire and sat down beside it. She felt helpless—totally helpless.

Drained of all energy and hope, she stretched out beside the fire and fell into a restless sleep, then was drawn quickly awake when she heard a voice that was familiar to her speaking close by outside. She paled and her insides tightened when she realized who was there, in the very same village as she! And thank God Echohawk had gone to his father's burial grounds! For the man he hated with all his might was there, bold as an eagle, mixing with the Chippewa, after having just slain so many!

She went to the entrance flap and scooted it aside only slightly, spying her father still on his stallion, yet most of his identity hidden in the shadows of a large-brimmed hat pulled low over his brow. He wore a large buckskin cape, hiding his lame leg beneath it.

Yes, Mariah thought bitterly, he was very well disguised.

She watched breathlessly as Chief Silver Wing went to her father and stared coldly up at him.

“I do not know you,” the chief said, his voice far from friendly. “Why do you come to my village?” He looked cautiously from side to side, at Victor's two companions, realizing that there were others hidden in the forest, for his braves had come with such a warning. The three white men had entered the village only because Chief Silver Wing allowed it, his braves' weapons drawn on them at all times.

“I come in peace. I am searching for my daughter,” Victor said, keeping his voice low and unthreatening. “She disappeared several days ago. Is there a chance that you might have seen her?”

Mariah's heart raced, praying that the chief would recall why she had fled her father. And she prayed that the chief would recall how she had been welcomed into the village, almost as one of them, since her act of bravery.

“This daughter,” Chief Silver Wing said, his voice steady. “What is her name?”

“Mariah,” Victor said softly. “She goes by the name Mariah.”

Chief Silver Wing's jaw tightened as he recalled how No-din had spoke so unfavorably of such a father, and how she had fled his wrath. “
Gah-ween
, no, I do not know of such a person named Mariah,” he said, the lie coming easy across his lips. “Now leave, white man. You have no cause to be here.”

Victor glared down at the chief for a moment, then wheeled his horse around and rode briskly away.

Mariah went limp with relief. When Nee-kah came into the wigwam and lunged into Mariah's arms, she clung to her friend, feeling blessed for having found someone so compassionate, when in truth, it could have been so different. These Chippewa could have burned her on a stake, or could have gladly handed her over to her father, to rid themselves of her.

Instead, they were protecting her as though she were truly one of them.

She clung to Nee-kah, hoping that Echohawk would eventually feel the same about her.

Chapter 10

—Chesterfield

 

 

 

 

The day was pleasantly warm, even though the trees had changed to marvelous shades of gold, russet, and crimson. To bide time until she could find out where Echohawk had gone for target practice, Mariah was with Nee-kah and several other Indian women on a root-digging expedition, helping to collect roots to dry for the upcoming winter's use.

As she trod through the forest, Nee-kah at her side, Mariah became lost in thought. She had decided never to give up on her promise that she would find a way to make wrongs right for Echohawk. Sitting vigil at his side while he had been recovering had not been enough, it seemed. Once he had recovered enough to be alone, to do things as he liked, and at his own pace, he did not allow her near him.

Yet Mariah did not take that too personally. He had not allowed anyone to be with him in his time of awkwardness while trying to learn again how to survive in everyday ritual and to aim accurately at a target with impaired eyes. True, he had refused to let her become his eyes, but he had also refused trusted braves who had offered their services.

“No-din, we Chippewa are constantly aware of the need of conservation,” Nee-kah said, quickly wrenching Mariah from her thoughts. “When we gather roots, some plants are left for seed. Earth is mother, who furnishes the food, and we Chippewa are considerate not to leave her scarred.” She paused and brushed away a string of cobweb as it floated just in front of her face, one of the aggravations of autumn. “A few berries are always left on bushes for birds and squirrels and other animals,” she further explained. “We never forget that the animals are the future food for our people.”

“That is such a lovely way of explaining it,” Mariah said, shifting her basket from one hand to the other. “I am discovering that the Chippewa are quite artistic, not only in designs I have seen on their clothes and dwellings but also in expressing their thoughts.”

Nee-kah's lips parted to talk some more, but she giggled when one of the young boys accompanying their mothers on the outing sneaked up behind her and hit the underside of the basket she was carrying, dumping the roots she had gathered, then went to Mariah and did the same.

“Why, he's a little scalawag, isn't he?” Mariah said, giggling as she looked down at her spilled roots, then at the lad as he scampered away, soon spilling another woman's basket.

Nee-kah turned to Mariah, eyeing her questioningly. “Scalawag?” she said, an eyebrow forked. “I know many words of your language, but never have I heard that strange-sounding word before.”

Mariah knelt to the ground and began scooping up roots, placing them back in her basket. “It has the same meaning as ‘rascal,' which suggests mischievousness. I would say that little brave is one of the most mischievous boys I have ever seen.” She glanced over at the boy, whose mother had just caught up with him, scolding him. “A scalawag,” she murmured, laughing softly. “But cute.”

She helped Nee-kah gather her spilled roots, then her smile faded and she rose slowly back to her feet, stunned to see how the small brave was being reprimanded. His mother had placed him in a basket cradle, tied him into it, then stuck the point of the frame into the ground.

“The poor child,” Mariah gasped, paling.

“He will not dump any more baskets,” Nee-kah said, shrugging. “We can now finish gathering our roots beneath the trees without further annoyances from the . . .” She gazed over at Mariah, screwing her face up into a curious look. “What was the word, No-din, that you used to describe his behavior?”

Mariah gazed a moment longer at the child, who was crying fitfully, then over to Nee-kah, knowing that this was just another custom that she would learn to accept. “Scalawag,” she said, pronouncing the word slowly.

Nee-kah placed her hand on her abdomen. “I must be sure that my son or daughter is not a scalawag,” she said, giggling.

“I'm sure mine will be,” Mariah said, laughing softly. “I would play with and torment a child with my own mischievous ways. The poor child would not be able ever to have a solemn moment.”

Mariah's laughter faded, her thoughts catapulted back to Echohawk. Loving him so much, and missing him terribly, she allowed herself to wonder how it might be to have his children, should she ever be given the chance. His handsomeness would surely transfer into any child borne of him.

A son.

Ah, a son with a copper skin and eyes of midnight would be such a wonder, such a joy, to experience!

And a daughter. How beautiful a daughter by him would be!

She glanced over at Nee-kah, seeing her utter loveliness. It would be wonderful to have a daughter that looked exactly like her and had the same generous, sweet personality. . . .

She was brought back to reality when out of nowhere a lone buffalo wandered into the area, way too close to the child. The boy's eyes caught sight of it, elevating his crying to something piercing, fright evident in the child's huge dark eyes.

“
Gah-ween
, no!” the mother screamed, dropping her basket to the ground, rushing toward her son as the buffalo began wandering even closer to the screaming child.

Mariah watched with horror, stifling a scream when the buffalo bent low over the boy, eye to eye, nose to nose.

The boy's mother kept running, waving her arms and screaming at the bull. Then she stopped and gasped, horrified as the bull suddenly thrust out its massive tongue and licked the boy's face.

Mariah leapt up and ran toward the boy, then stopped, dismayed when the buffalo sauntered away, soon out of sight.

Her shoulders relaxed and she inhaled a nervous breath when the mother released the child from his prison, holding him in her arms, hugging him tightly.

“Nee-kah has never seen such a sight,” Nee-kah said, stepping up to Mariah's side. “I thought the boy would be killed. The Great Spirit must have touched the buffalo's heart, making him love the Chippewa, instead of hate. The Great Spirit will now also look over the buffalo and allow no arrows or bullets to pierce its flesh.”

The sound of gunfire carrying on the wind made Mariah's heart skip a beat. She glanced quickly in the direction of the sound, hearing another gunshot, and realized that, unaware, she had found the place where Echohawk had chosen to do his target practicing.

“
Mah-szhon
, go to him,” Nee-kah said, placing a gentle hand on Mariah's arm. “I know that it has been hard not to.”

“Would you really not mind?” Mariah said anxiously, looking down at her basket of roots, then back up at Nee-kah. “Have I gathered enough roots? I want to play a beneficial role in your village. I do not want to just take, and not give.”

“You have given of yourself in many ways,” Nee-kah said, smiling softly at Mariah. “It is my people who still owe you so much.”

Mariah's eyes wavered and she looked away from Nee-kah, guilt awash throughout her again as she recalled the bloody massacre and her part in it. She feared the day that Nee-kah and her people would discover the truth. They would then regret all of the praise they had bestowed upon her.

But this was now. Echohawk was near. And even though he had forbidden her to accompany him, she could not stay away now that she was so close.

Nee-kah took Mariah's basket. “Go,” she said, nodding toward the repeated gunfire. “If you do not feel comfortable letting him realize you are there, at least watch Echohawk and see how he fares today with his practicing.” She frowned, sadness heavy in her eyes. “I so fear for him if he cannot find any accuracy with his weapons. He has always been a proud man. And he has the need to regain that pride.”

“If only he would allow me to help him,” Mariah said, frustrated. “I would so enjoy being the one who helped him regain some of his confidence, even if he can't see clearly enough to shoot as well as he did before . . . before . . . the attack.”

“He would not even allow any braves to accompany him today,” Nee-kah said, sighing heavily. “This, too, is a part of that pride. He wants to prove that he can fend for himself, totally.”

“Then I shall just go and watch,” Mariah said, although she wanted far more than that. She hungered to hear him ask her to stand at his side—be his eyes. It would be a fair exchange, she thought to herself, for he had her heart!

“Go with care,” Nee-kah said, leaning a kiss to Mariah's cheek.

“
Mee-gway-chee-wahn-dum
, thank you,” Mariah said, then began running softly in the direction where she had heard the gunfire, which had now ceased, troubling her. She feared that she had dallied too long and that he had ceased with his practicing, already moving back toward the village.

Breathlessly she continued onward, then stopped with a start. Up ahead, through a clearing in the trees, she caught her first sight of Echohawk. The reason she had not heard any more gunfire was that he was now practicing with a bow and arrows.

She crept closer and hid behind a tree only a few yards away, watching with an anxious heart as he shot one arrow after another at the remains of a weathered buffalo skull positioned in the fork of a tree.

She ached for him when he missed the skull altogether each time he shot at it, but was proud of him when this did not dissuade him from trying again. A determined man, he kept notching his arrows onto the string of his bow, continuously shooting.

Mariah moved closer, her moccasins silent on the thick grass, until she stood within only footsteps of Echohawk. She was afraid that with his weakened eyes, his sense of hearing might be better and that he might realize that she was there.

But so intent was he on practicing, he still did not know that she was there.

Mariah stood her ground and continued to admire Echohawk more and more by the minute for his determination and endurance.

Ah, but wasn't he handsome! she marveled to herself, as though this were the first time she had set eyes on him. He wore a breechclout and moccasins, revealing all his muscles and the sleekness of his copper chest and broad shoulders. Held by a beaded headband, his raven-black hair framed his face and was worn loosely to his shoulders, occasionally lifting from his shoulders to flutter in the gentle breeze. His jaw and sculptured lips were tight. His midnight-black eyes were mystically beautiful, which made Mariah even more regretful over his sight having been impaired.

Realizing that she was getting too caught up in the wonders of this man, Mariah wrenched her eyes away from him, swallowing hard. She knew that if she allowed herself the feelings of a woman, which had for so long been denied her by her ruthless father, she could love this handsome Chippewa with all her heart.

Being swept up too much in feelings that were all but forbidden to her, Mariah turned to leave, but was stunned at what she found approaching, its narrow gray eyes on Echohawk.

A wolf!

And she could see by the slaver of its jaws that it was not just any wolf.

This animal was rabid!

She glanced from the wolf to Echohawk, then back at the wolf, realizing that Echohawk was not aware of the wolf's presence, no more than he had been of her scrutiny. And even if Echohawk had been aware of the wolf stalking him, he surely would not be able to see well enough to kill it before it leapt on him!

Without further thought, knowing what she must do, Mariah made a mad dash for Echohawk's rifle, lunged for it, and aimed it at the wolf, shooting it between the eyes just as it was getting ready to make its final approach on Echohawk. She watched wild-eyed as the impact of the bullet caused the wolf's body to lurch wildly in the air, then fall dead to the ground.

Startled by the rifle fire, Echohawk whirled around, and when he saw the hazy shadow of Mariah standing there, he dropped his bow and arrow to the ground and lunged for her, tackling her by the ankles. As she fell to the ground, the rifle fell out of her hands, and she soon found herself pinned to the ground, Echohawk atop her.

“Your aim was bad,” he growled, leaning his face down into hers. “Why did you fire upon me? What enemy of mine are you?”

“I am not your enemy, Echohawk!” Mariah cried, her heart pounding, her wrists paining her where he so unmercifully gripped them. “It is I, No-din, Echohawk. I . . . I . . . was not shooting at you. I shot and killed a wolf that was stalking you. It was rabid, Echohawk! Rabid!”

“No-din?” Echohawk gasped, releasing her wrists. “You fired the weapon? You say that you fired upon a wolf?”

“
Ay-uh
, yes,” Mariah said, her voice drawn. “I came to . . . to watch you practice. You did not know that I was here.” She paused, her pulse racing at the nearness of him. That she was with him at all made her heart hammer almost out of control. Never had his lips been so close! She could even feel the heat of his breath upon her face, warming her insides into something deliciously magical.

“Nor did you know that the wolf was there,” she quickly added. “Had I not been here, Echohawk, you would even now be the victim of the wolf's rabid bites.”

Echohawk could not find the words to explain his feelings at this moment. He was torn between anger at her for not honoring his wish to be alone in his disgrace, not being able to fire a weapon at a target accurately, and gratefulness that she had cared enough to defend him, even though, had she missed the wolf, it could have turned on her and torn her to shreds.

And he was stunned at her ability to kill the wolf in the face of danger. He was used to men rescuing women—not women rescuing men. Although his wife had been a woman of gentleness and sweetness, he had always admired a woman who possessed grit. A woman of fire!