Twin Willows: A Novel (20 page)

K
ANAWHA
T
RAIL

“The sun is already high. We must be on our way,” White Eagle said the next morning.

They had bathed in the stream, at first playing like children, then coupling again in the shallow water. Willow looked around the peaceful glen where they had shared their love, and sighed.

“I do not want to go.”

Her husband put a comforting arm around her waist and pressed his hand to her heart. “This place will always be with us here.”

“I would have you to myself a while longer, my husband.”

“It cannot be so. I go to saddle Mishewa.”

Willow’s heart already ached with the burden of their parting. He would take her to Waccachalla, as he had promised. But once the mourning and feasting were done, Willow knew that her man would put on war paint once more. In these troubled times, his people—who were now hers as well—needed all their warriors.

Reluctantly Willow folded the still-damp wedding blanket on which they had coupled, first in the afternoon and again sometime in the night. Their second was better than the first, and when they had joined in the water this morning, she could imagine no greater ecstacy. Dipping the blanket in the creek had removed the pink stain that proved she was no longer a maiden. The not unpleasant ache in her loins was another such proof.

Bear’s Daughter did not tell me these things about this seed-planting
, she thought. Was it possible that her mother could have felt about the
Shemanese
man who had fathered her as Willow did about White Eagle? She knew a sudden stab of sorrow that she could not speak with her mother about her new joy. She wished Bear’s Daughter could know how deeply she already loved her new husband.
You did well in choosing White Eagle for me, my mother
.

White Eagle returned with Mishewa, and Willow raised her face for another kiss. As they left, Willow took a long, last look at the glen in which she and White Eagle had truly become one.
I will never forget this place
, she vowed.

They traveled on as before. Willow rode behind White Eagle with her arms lightly circling his narrow waist and her head resting on his broad back. They had not been on the trail long when Willow felt her husband suddenly tense.

“Listen—riders come this way.”

He slowed his horse, and from a small rise in the trail, Willow saw two
Shemanese
approaching from the south, so close that she could tell they held rifles at the ready.

“Stop!” one of the men cried. It was one of the few English words Willow understood, but either White Eagle didn’t know its meaning, or he chose not to obey. He kicked Mishewa’s flanks and jerked the reins sharply to the right in an effort to gain cover. Almost immediately one of the
Shemanese
fired his rifle, and Mishewa reared at the unexpected sound.

White Eagle’s horse is used to the noise of battle. He shouldn’t do this
, Willow thought, even as she felt herself losing her balance. Desperately she grabbed at White Eagle, but it was too late. Seeing that she would fall, Willow went limp, protected her head with her arms, and rolled as she hit the ground.

White Eagle called to her over the shouts and gunfire. “Run and hide! Hurry!”

Without looking back, Willow struggled to her feet and plunged through the underbrush next to the trail. As she ran, she heard gunfire for a time, then nothing except her own labored breathing. She kept on for a few hundred more paces, but finally exhaustion forced her to drop to the ground behind a fallen tree. She strained to hear what might be happening on the trail. Warily she watched for a sign that she had been followed, but saw none. Still, she concealed herself until she judged that sufficient time had passed, then left her hiding place and started back to the trail, not retracing her steps but walking at some distance parallel to them.

The nearer Willow got to the place where she had last seen White Eagle, the more apprehensive she became. She wanted to call out his name, but she feared that the
Shemanese
might be lying in ambush. Just before she reached the spot where Mishewa had thrown her, Willow stopped and listened again. Hearing nothing more than the usual forest sounds, she stepped back onto the trail.

She and the white man saw each other at almost the same moment, and each reacted immediately. Willow turned and fled back into the underbrush, and the man jumped down from his horse and pursued her.

“Anna! Stop!”

Closer and closer the man came. Breathless, in desperation, Willow turned back toward the trail, then ran north, paralleling it. She thought she had lost her pursuer until she felt the ground shake beneath his running feet and heard his harsh breathing as he rapidly closed the distance between them. Soon the
Shemanese
would reach her, and she was helpless to defend herself. When he found her, surely he would kill her.
How will he do it?
she wondered. Perhaps he would shoot her. Or, more likely, he’d save his shot and powder and use his rifle butt on her skull.

He grew closer, and she gasped for air. She plunged into the underbrush, hoping the briers that tore at her leggings and scratched her hands would slow her pursuer. Willow thought of White Eagle.
No matter what happens to me, may the Great Spirit protect my husband
.

She turned her head to see if the
Shemanese
still followed, and her moccasin caught in a trailing vine. She lost her balance and pitched forward, unable to avoid the fallen log and rock outcropping that rushed up to meet her.

Willow’s head hit something hard. She heard a dull thud and knew a sudden jolt of pain. She felt her senses grow faint.

“Anna Willow! Why do ye run from me, child?”

Dimly hearing her name amidst the strange
Shemanese
words, Willow tried to open her eyes. Through a thick haze she saw that the white man who knelt beside her had fierce blue eyes and a strange red beard, grizzled, like an old bear’s, and wiry white hair.

He spoke again, but his voice seemed to come from far away. Her ears roared, and her head ached. She shut her eyes, and strange lights flashed behind her closed lids.
I do not want to die here in this place, with none to sing the Death Song for me
.

It was her last conscious thought for a long time.

When James Craig and Ian McKnight had crossed the Ohio River in search of Anna Willow, they knew the danger of their mission. They were bound for a Delaware village where Ian had often enlisted the chief’s aid. Word of a white captive would spread from village to village, and once Ian and his friends knew where Anna Willow was, they could devise a plan to get her back, perhaps by paying a ransom. They sought no confrontation, but rode with rifles primed and ready to fire should the need arise.

They had traveled a long way without encountering anyone else, but shortly before midday, Ian had signaled James to stop.

“Someone is riding this way,” he said.

“I don’t hear nothin’—” James Craig started to say, then stopped as a Shawnee topped a slight rise and came into view.

“He’s not in war paint, and there’s a woman with him,” James said. “Likely he’ll leave us alone.”

“Maybe he can tell us something. We’ll parley with him,” Ian said, and called out for the man to stop.

Instead, the Indian jerked his horse’s reins, and when the animal wheeled to one side, Ian had a clear view of the woman who rode with him. Her braided hair and garb were Indian, but there was no mistaking her features, as familiar as his own.

“Stop him! He’s got Anna Willow!” Ian cried out.

In the confusion that followed, James Craig fired his rifle, the Indian’s horse reared and ran into the underbrush, and Ian lost sight of his daughter after she tumbled from the horse’s back.

James Craig rode after the Shawnee, while Ian hastily secured his horse and went in search of Anna Willow. He entered the underbrush at the point where he had last seen her, and called her name repeatedly, but there was no answer.

Had she been knocked unconscious in the fall, he would have come upon her by now. Perhaps the Indian had somehow managed to recapture her.
She must have panicked
, Ian thought. Otherwise, why would she not answer him?

He returned to the trail, thinking that Anna would soon realize it was safe to come out of the underbrush. Finally she did, and his heart swelled with relief when he spotted her. Yet as soon as she saw him she turned and fled into the wilderness. Even as he called to her to stop, Ian resumed the chase. Winded and doubled in pain from the wound in his side, he pressed on. When she entered a thicket, he followed. She turned her head and looked at Ian as if she didn’t recognize him. With her attention thus diverted, she tripped and fell heavily, landing against a rock outcropping.

“Anna Willow! Why do ye run from me, child?”

She had opened her eyes briefly and looked at him. He thought she wanted to speak, but lacked the breath. Then she lost consciousness.

Ian had stood and whistled through his fingers to signal James Craig, who joined him a moment later. “The Indian got away, but I see you found your daughter.”

“Yes, but she’s hurt.”

James peered closely at the limp young woman. “I wouldn’t a-known the girl in that Indian garb. What happened to her?”

“She fell off the Indian’s horse, and then she tripped and hit her head against that rock. The skin’s not broken. The lass will soon come to herself.”

“We can’t stay here, Colonel. Likely the savage that took her has already gone for help.”

“Aye. We must go now and ride fast.”

With the girl they called Anna secured to the saddle behind Ian, he and James Craig rode away at a gallop, every hoofbeat taking them farther south, away from all that the one named Willow knew, and the man she held dear.

Thanks to his quick reaction and his fast horse, White Eagle had escaped death at the hands of the
Shemanese
, but one of their bullets had passed through his thigh. When he dismounted to tie off the bleeding, as he knew he must, White Eagle hadn’t taken time to secure Mishewa’s reins. When the
Shemanese
sent another volley of rifle fire thundering into the woods, the horse had bolted and run away. By the time White Eagle had tended his wound, found Mishewa, and returned to the place of the
Shemanese
ambuscade, the white men—and Willow—had vanished.

Clinging desperately to the hope that she had come to no harm at the hands of the white men, White Eagle thought that perhaps she was hiding nearby. He called out Willow’s name, but the raucous screeching of a blue jay was his only answer. Returning to where Willow had fallen from his horse, White Eagle found her footprints and followed them. He saw a place where she had stopped, then stretched out behind a log before taking another direction back toward the trail.
She did the right thing
, White Eagle thought, but when her footprints crossed those made by a
Shemanese
boot, he knew it had not been enough.

With growing trepidation, White Eagle noted the evidence that the
Shemanese
had put Willow on one of their horses and turned back south. No blood stained the earth, and for that White Eagle felt relief. So far, it appeared that the
Shemanese
had not harmed Willow.

Grimacing with pain from his leg wound, White Eagle mounted his horse and followed the fresh tracks of two horses making for the O-hio-se-pe. The depth of the hoof prints told him they rode fast. Near Raven Rock they had left the trail and veered off to the right onto an old deer trace. It was what White Eagle expected:
Shemanese
would not risk crossing the river at Raven Rock, where the Shawnee kept an almost constant lookout.

White Eagle reined in his horse and considered what he should do. His heart wanted to continue to trail them, but he knew it would be a foolish gesture. The
Shemanese
had such a head start that they were likely already on the other side. Even a warrior in top condition would hesitate to cross the river in lone pursuit of armed
Shemanese
. For him, light-headed from pain and loss of blood, it would be suicide.

Reluctantly White Eagle turned his horse to the northwest. He would stop at Chillicothe, the nearest village. The medicine man could bind his wounds. Then he would go on to Waccachalla, now much nearer than his own home village. Black Snake would be told what had happened to his kinswomen.

Many willing warriors will cross the O-hio-se-pe with me
, he thought. He would find Willow, even if he had to go to every
Shemanese
station in the Kan-tuck-e.

B
RYAN’S
S
TATION

By riding hard and stopping infrequently, Ian McKnight and James Craig reached Bryan’s Station late that night. Most of the Station’s residents slept, and it took several hails to raise the lookout.

The man who opened the gate smiled widely when he saw the girl with Ian. “I’m right glad to see you, Colonel. Everybody in the Station was some worried about you.”

“Has aught happened since we left?” Ian asked.

“Nay, Colonel. Perhaps the savages will leave us be for a spell.”

“Aye, but I doubt that we’ve seen the last of them.”

Ian dismounted and turned to help the girl. She had opened her eyes from time to time during the journey, but she had not spoken and still seemed dazed. When he set her on the ground, her knees buckled. Ignoring the pain in his side, he picked her up.

“I’ll see to your horse, Colonel,” offered James Craig.

“Thank ye—and thanks for going with me,” Ian said.

The commotion of their homecoming awakened many of the Station’s residents, still on edge from the recent siege. Faces peered from several open doors as Ian walked past, carrying what appeared to be an Indian woman.

“What’s goin’ on?” a sleepy voice inquired.

“Go back to your beds. ’Tis only Ian McKnight, safely back from across the river.”

Ian’s own door was barred shut from the inside. He had to knock loudly several times to rouse Rebecca.

Finally she slid back the wooden bar and opened the door. “Oh, you found Anna! God be praised!” she cried.

“The girl’s been hurt,” he said.

“I’ll make a light and get her pallet.”

Rebecca thrust a long twig into the fireplace coals and touched it to a stubby candle-end, then pulled Anna’s bedding from the lean-to. In the wavering candlelight, the girl’s features certainly looked like Anna’s. The way she was dressed, however, made her appear more Indian than white.

“I see that the savages wasted no time putting their garb on her,” Rebecca said. Quickly she examined the knot on the girl’s head and noted that other than a few scratches, she had no injuries. Rebecca put her hand to the pulse in the girl’s neck and was pleased by its steady throb. “That’s a bad lick she took on her head, but otherwise she seems well.”

Ian described how she received her injury. “I’m most worried that Anna Willow doesn’t seem to know who I am.”

The girl’s eyes opened, and she moaned. Immediately Ian knelt beside the pallet and took her hand. “Ye’re safe at home now,” he told her. “Ye maun rest.”

“’Tis good to have you back, Anna Willow,” said Rebecca.

The girl slipped her hand from Ian’s and looked puzzled. “Willow?” she repeated.

Rebecca and Ian exchanged a worried glance. “’Tis your name—Anna Willow McKnight,” Ian said.

The girl raised her chin in a familiar gesture, but the strange words she uttered and the voice that spoke them were not Anna’s. The only thing she said that Rebecca understood was “Willow.”

“What did she say?” Rebecca asked.

Ian looked bewildered. “I’m not sure, but it was Shawnee talk.” A faint uneasiness began to prickle him. How could this be his daughter—but how could it not?

His suspicion grew when the girl spoke again—this girl was not Anna. Ian thought that she asked him about the man she had been with. Being more fluent in Delaware, he replied in that tongue. He told her he knew nothing about her companion, then he asked her name. “
Auween khackev?
”

She frowned slightly, then said, “
N’hackney
Willow.”

“Her name is Willow,” Ian said.

“How strange! Ask her where she comes from,” Rebecca said.

“
Takoom?
”

“
Otennink noom Scioto-se-pe
. ”

“She says she lives near the Scioto River,” Ian translated.

The girl who called herself Willow looked at Ian and spoke slowly, as if reciting from rote. “My fath-er Ee-an M’night.”

Rebecca gasped. “This girl thinks you are her father!”

“I don’t understand it myself.” Ian turned to the girl and pointed to his chest. “
N’hackney
Ian McKnight.”

Her eyes darkened and she shook her head. “Ee-an M’night
nepwa
.”

“She says I am dead.” Ian again said he was “Ee-an M’night,” but her eyes told him she didn’t believe it. “What is your mother called?” he asked in Delaware.

“Bear’s Daughter—
nepwa
.”

“I know that name, but Bear’s Daughter cannot be this one’s mother.”

The girl who called herself Willow moaned softly, and her eyes closed.

“She’s just fainted again,” Rebecca said at Ian’s look of concern. “Leave her be. She needs to sleep. By mornin’, she should be much better.”

Ian passed a shaking hand over his brow and sighed. “This Willow is a puzzle.”

Rebecca looked thoughtful. “Anna Willow’s mother was a Delaware named Silverwillow, wasn’t she?”

“Aye.”

“Since this girl claims you’re her father, perhaps you forgot to mention you had another Indian wife named Bear’s Daughter?”

Ian smiled faintly at his wife’s tone. “Nay, Silverwillow was my only wife before ye. Bear’s Daughter raised Silverwillow after her parents died. She was also the midwife who put Anna Willow into my arms after my wife died birthing her.” His thoughts went back to that time, and his face turned ashen as he began to realize the truth.

Rebecca looked questioningly at Ian. “Then how could you be this girl’s father, too?”

“Silverwillow’s belly grew large. I did not suspect that she carried more than one babe, but in those days I understood nothing of such things. Bear’s Daughter loved Silverwillow like her own flesh—” Ian stopped, overcome with emotion.

Rebecca nodded. “I think I understand what happened. Silverwillow probably gave birth to twin girls. Bear’s Daughter must have kept one of them—and named her Willow after her mother.”

Ian nodded. “Aye, that could be the way of it. I took Anna Willow to my sister when she was only days old. I never saw Bear’s Daughter again. Some time later I heard that she had gone to live with some of her Shawnee kin near the Scioto.”

His expression grew grim. “If I had sought out Bear’s Daughter then, I’d have seen that Anna Willow had a twin sister.”

Rebecca touched her fingertips to his lips. “Hush. You can’t blame yourself for what happened. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. The girl is asleep, and you must rest yourself.”

When Rebecca put out the candle, Ian took her into his arms and kissed her. “I thank ye, ma’am,” he said huskily.

Rebecca half smiled in the darkness. “For what?”

“For marryin’ me. And for lettin’ me go and do what I must.”

Rebecca said nothing, but she knew that Ian McKnight would never be satisfied until his Anna Willow was safely back at Bryan’s Station. She had no doubt that her husband would once more cross the Ohio and put himself in harm’s way to find the girl.

Don’t go, Ian. Soon you’ll have another child to think about, perhaps a son to carry on your name. Stay here and take care of your wife
.

Rebecca had rehearsed the words she would say in case Ian returned without Anna. Now that it had happened, however, the speech stuck in her throat. She would not pit Ian’s unborn child against his missing daughter.

Her husband would do what he must, and she must allow it.

Anna awoke after her first night in Waccachalla to find Blossom sitting cross-legged beside her, apparently waiting for her to awaken. Anna’s muscles protested as she stretched, then sat up.

The girl pointed to a wooden bowl filled with dew-dampened berries, then to Anna. She put out her hand and pretended to bring berries to her mouth. “
Oui-then-eluh
. ”

“Eat?” Anna asked.

The girl nodded, pleased. “
Oui-sah
.” She handed Anna a gourd filled with cool spring water. “
Nipe
. ”

Obediently Anna repeated the word, then added “water.”

“Wat-eh?” Blossom repeated, and seemed pleased when Anna nodded.

As long as I’m here, I might as well learn their language
, Anna thought.

Blossom seemed to understand Anna’s intention. While Anna ate, she patiently repeated the Shawnee names for the various objects that Anna pointed out. In return, Blossom signaled that she wanted to know Anna’s names for everything, beginning with herself. Anna decided to drop the “Willow,” which only confused everyone, and the “McKnight,” which they had trouble saying.

As a result, Blossom told the steady stream of visitors who came to the chief’s
wegiwa
that their strange visitor was named “An-na.” Most stared at her in wonder, as if they had never seen anything like her. A few attempted to converse with Anna, first in one language and then another. Some knew a few English words, but no one knew enough to conduct a meaningful conversation.

By midafternoon, Anna’s effort to communicate had taken its toll, and she felt relieved when Blossom closed the skin door of the
wegiwa
to further visitors. Anna had just settled down to rest when she heard distant shouts.

Obviously excited, Blossom looked outside, then turned to Anna. “
Nenothtu
, ” she said.

The warriors must be coming back
, Anna thought. Her captor had been alone when he took her from Bryan’s Station, but undoubtedly he hadn’t gone there by himself.

Curious, Anna stood at the door and looked at the half-dozen men who rode into the clearing. Time, sweat, and their exertions had taken a toll on their war paint, and they were obviously tired. However, they circled the village in a show of energy, yelling and brandishing tomahawks, war clubs, and rifles.

Blossom signed to Anna that the warriors would first go to the
msi-kah-mi-qui
, and she watched them head in the direction of the chief’s lodge. They stayed inside briefly; and then, instead of joining their waiting families as Anna expected, the men came from the
msi-kah-mi-qui
and went toward the creek and the steam house.

There they will be ritually cleansed
, Anna thought, then immediately wondered why she had known so. Something her father had said, perhaps; Ian McKnight had told Anna many things about Indian life. Even in the brief time she had been in Waccachalla, Anna had already seen much to remind her of the stories she’d heard, from him and others, about Indian ways.

For years she had wondered about her mother’s life as a Delaware Indian. Even though her captor had made it clear to Anna that he was Shawnee, and Waccachalla was a Shawnee village, she thought their lives and customs must be similar. However, Anna would certainly not have chosen this captivity as a means to learn about Indian ways.

By signs and gestures, Blossom made Anna understand that, since one warrior had not returned from across the river, there would be a general mourning. But even if she hadn’t been forewarned, when she heard the first notes of the Death Song, Anna would have recognized its purpose.

Those sounds of grief come from their very hearts
, she thought. In that regard, at least, Indians and whites were the same.

Willow struggled awake, at first aware only that it was still dark and that her head throbbed painfully. Every sense told her she was in an unfamiliar place. Instead of the buffalo robes and animal skins that had made her bed in the lodge of Bear’s Daughter, or the wedding blanket she had shared with White Eagle, Willow now lay on a too soft feather-stuffed pallet.

White Eagle
. Was it only a sleep ago that they had loved and slept under the open sky, waking only to love again?

Through the hurt and confusion in her head, Willow tried to sort out all that had occurred. She remembered riding with White Eagle until they were stopped by the
Shemanese
. Then the one who called himself Ee’an M’night had taken her away from White Eagle and brought her to this place. Bear’s Daughter had told her that her father was dead, and Willow had no reason to doubt it. Could her mother have been mistaken? Or could two
Shemanese
have the same name?

Willow put that puzzle from her mind to consider a more important one.
What has happened to White Eagle?
They had shared their love for a pitifully short time. Now Willow feared that her husband might be dead, killed by the same
Shemanese
who had brought her to this awful place, or lying hurt and alone. No warrior should die unmourned. Tears of sorrow stung her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Willow allowed herself to weep for a few moments before she drew a deep breath and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

I must be strong
. She had to believe that her man still lived and that they would be together again.
White Eagle lives and he will seek me. He is a brave and strong warrior, and he will do what he must so we can again lie together in peace
. Once more, they would take pleasure in their love, just as they had in the glen. She would think of that time. She would shed no more tears.

The next morning, the girl Ian had brought to the Station seemed to be recovering well from her head injury. Although she ate little of the mush Rebecca offered for her breakfast, she seemed more alert, and her eyes were clear. She seemed to like being called “Willow,” and dutifully she repeated their names, “Ee-an” and “R’becca.”

Willow seemed more comfortable seated on the floor, and there Ian spent several hours talking to her. Their only common language was Delaware, which Willow knew only slightly and Ian had to dredge from deep memory. They could exchange only the most basic information, and Willow seemed particularly unwilling to tell him any more about herself than he already knew. Ian believed that Willow finally accepted the fact that he was her father, but when he tried to explain that Bear’s Daughter hadn’t been her mother, the girl shook her head in stubborn disbelief.

“I’ve done all I can to set things straight with her for now,” Ian told Rebecca that night. “Maybe in time the lass will come to believe me.”

“When will you let her go back to her home?” Rebecca asked.

From the way Ian’s mouth twisted, Rebecca knew her words hurt him. Ian might be ready to acknowledge this girl as his daughter, but he must be aware that she might never accept him as her father.