Wild Ecstasy (12 page)

She looked to the darkened sky. “Lord, I love him,” she cried to herself. “What am I to do? I love him!”

* * *

Putting his full weight on his cane, Victor Temple limped slowly up the stairs to the second story of his house, defeat slouching his shoulders even more than usual.

Weary from the long ride, during which he had not found Mariah, he felt empty, clean through to the core. Until now, when he was forced to believe that he might never see her again, he had not realized just how much he loved her.

And recalling how brusquely he had treated her at times, he did not expect her to have even an inkling of how he truly felt about her. The purpose first and foremost on his mind had been to protect her from becoming like her mother.

But now he felt that he had been wrong. He should have put more trust in her.

Yet hadn't he trusted his wife? When he had discovered her infidelities, all of his trust in mankind had been stolen away, it seemed.

Stopping at the head of the staircase, he turned solemn eyes to Mariah's bedroom. Tears filled his eyes, in regret at what he had forced on her before leaving for the Indian attack. He had given her just cause to hate him, that was for sure!

Limping to her bedroom, his fingers clasped hard to the handle of the cane, he stepped just inside the room and saw her long strands of hair lying across the foot of the bed in the dimming light of evening.

A sob grabbed at his chest as he went to the bed and picked up some of her hair and held it to his cheek. “Soft,” he whispered. “So thick and soft. Why did I cut it? Why?”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he gathered up the rest of her hair and held it to his chest and slowly rocked back and forth, immersed in thoughts of the daughter that he had loved, perhaps too much. If he had not loved her so much, he would have been more generous with her. He would have given her more freedom.

“And now I will never be given the chance to make it up to her,” he said, almost choking on another sob. “I'm sorry, Mariah. So damn sorry.”

He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. “Mariah, Mariah . . .” he whispered until he fell asleep.

Chapter 12

—Bryant

 

 

 

The day was brilliant with sunlight, the air sporting only a slight chilling breeze. It was a fun and carefree day for Mariah as she stood beside Echohawk in a meadow spotted with autumn wildflowers, amazed at his quickly improving skills with a rifle, though he was still half-blinded.

She watched breathlessly as he reloaded his rifle, then aimed and shot at the blue-winged teal, the most delicious of feathered creation, as the flock flew past. When one fluttered to the ground lifeless, the others changed directions in unison, yet did not immediately fly away from the danger of more gunfire. They continued to soar overhead, seemingly oblivious of the continuing threat.

Echohawk went to the fallen bird and picked it up by its legs and carried it to his horse, securing it with a rope behind the saddle. “As you see, though my eyesight has been impaired by the white man's blow to my head, I shall master again my weapons,” he said as Mariah stepped up beside him. He gazed into the sky, seeing only smears where there were birds—the teals still enjoying sweeping high, then low across the wide stretches of the meadow.

“I am so proud for you,” Mariah said, smiling at him, trying not to think about the man responsible for his dilemma.

Her father!

She knew that she would never wholly relax until somehow she settled things with Echohawk about her true identity.

“You see how the birds fly high, then low?” Echohawk said, resting the barrel of his rifle in the crook of his left arm. “It is best not to fire upon the blue-winged teal if they are flying high in the autumn of the year, for they are fattened on the wild rice of the river and would burst open upon falling.”

“I went on hunts with my father often, but mostly for animals, not birds,” Mariah said, feeling sad when she gazed at the beautiful thing hanging lifeless on Blaze. “It seems such a pity to kill something so . . . so . . . beautiful.”

“When you live solely off the land and animals, as the Chippewa have for generation after generation, you close your eyes to the beauty of those birds and animals that you kill,” Echohawk said softly. “You look at them as food for your people, for their survival.”

He frowned down at Mariah. “Until the white people came to our land, there was not such a struggle each day to find food,” he said, his words edged with bitterness. “Each day there are fewer animals, for the white trappers have used steel teeth in which to trap the innocent animals, and not only a few daily. They trap many each day. Soon, even, some of the animals that roam the lands today will become extinct. Then what of the red man?”

Mariah's lips parted, and she blanched, knowing exactly what he was referring to. Her father and his men moved through the forest daily, taking from it what they could, not stopping to think about the harm in killing in numbers.

They wanted the pelts, at any cost.

“Let us travel onward,” Echohawk said, offering Mariah a hand. “There is some place I would like to take you.”

Mariah sighed shakily as she let him help her into the saddle, then relished the solid strength of his arm as he placed it around her waist and settled into the saddle behind her.

Echohawk took the reins and wheeled his steed around, soon galloping across the sun-drenched meadow. They rode for some time; then he drew rein at the foot of a butte.

“We must go the rest of the way on foot,” Echohawk said, dismounting, then assisting Mariah from the saddle. “Up there,” he said, pointing at the high butte overhead. “What I want to share with you is on the butte, a place of peace, where land and sky become as one.”

“What is it you wish to show me?” Mariah asked, falling into step beside him as they started walking up a narrow path.

Echohawk did not respond. He moved determinedly upward. A strange sort of haunting in his eyes caused Mariah to become apprehensive. What had he so adamantly chosen to show her?

She quickly reminded herself that she had thus far placed much trust in him, as well as the rest of the Chippewa, and hoped that such trust was warranted.

Yet now, with their adventurous day marred by his indifferent, cold attitude, she was not sure if she had trusted too quickly!

What if he had discovered who she was and planned to shove her off the butte as payment for her treachery. It would be so simple for him to lead her into a trap!

But her worries were cast into the wind, so it seemed, when they reached the top of the butte. Where the land leveled off, her breath was stolen away when she saw the site of many graves lying side by side.

“My fallen people's resting places,” Echohawk said, looking glumly down at the mounds of earth.

He walked to a grave marked with a cedar post and knelt beside it, placing a hand on the mound of earth. “This is my father's,” he said, his voice breaking.

“If only it were I lying there instead of my beloved father!” Echohawk said, his voice filled with anguish. “My heart cries out for him both night and day. Never were a son and father so close! So devoted!”

As Mariah watched Echohawk despairing so deeply over the loss of his father, she covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a sob behind it, regret and guilt fusing within her. She wanted to shout to Echohawk that she was sorry for his distress. She had never had such a shared love with a father, and now that she knew such things could exist, she ached inside for having participated in destroying that special bonding.

Echohawk turned to Mariah and offered her a hand. “Come,” he said. “Kneel beside me. Let my father feel your presence at my side. Because of you, his son is still alive.”

His words, his trust in her, made Mariah's heart feel as though it were tearing in shreds. But she had to put on a good front, for even though he could not see the pained expression on her face, he would be able to hear it in her voice. This was not the time to reveal truths to him. Not while he was at his father's grave, where only peaceful thoughts should be shared.

But the fact that he was presenting her as someone special—as someone who had saved him—made her feel ashamed. His father was dead because of
her
father. What a travesty she was acting out! What a sham!

Having no choice but to do as he asked, no matter how torn she was inside over being there in the presence of so many that had died because of her dreadful father, Mariah knelt beside Echohawk, her eyes wavering, her heart pounding.

“I cannot see, but on my father's grave marker should be emblazoned his ranks and achievements,” he said, reaching to run his fingers across the engraved letterings. “Also there should be three black emblems posted there, representing the three scalps that he had taken from evil white men.”

He doubled his hand into a fist and his jaw tightened angrily. “Soon I will present my father with, not one more scalp, but four. The scalp of the evil white man who led the recent raid, that of the young lad who rode with the raiding party, the renegade Sioux White Wolf's scalp, and that of the man with yellow eyes who also took much from me, even my heart! Someday, somehow, these scalps will sway in the wind from my father's grave post!”

Mariah grabbed at her stomach, suddenly ill, Echohawk's warnings reaching clean to her soul, for although he did not know it, her scalp was one of those he sought!

“Please take me back to your village,” she said, stumbling quickly to her feet. She grabbed at Echohawk as he rose quickly beside her. “I . . . I . . . feel ill, Echohawk. I . . . need to lie down.”

Echohawk placed his hands to her shoulders and steadied her. “Speaking of scalps was unpleasant to you, and unwise of me for being so thoughtless,” he said gently. “I am sorry, No-din. It was not my intention to upset you.”

“Echohawk, it's not so much that,” Mariah said, sighing deeply. “I . . . I just never thought
you
could be capable of . . . of scalping. That is a savage act. You are anything but savage!”

“Killing innocent Chippewa is savage!” he defended hotly.

He spun away from her and began working his way down the side of the hill. When Mariah saw his feet slip, endangering him, she ran to him and placed her hand at his elbow, which he just as quickly wrenched away from her.

“I did not mean to use the word ‘savage,'” she tried to explain. “And I did not use it to describe you, Echohawk. Only the act of scalping.”

“Many white people have referred to the Indians as savages,” Echohawk grumbled, walking steadily downward. “They should look in mirrors more often! They then would see who is the true savage!”

Not to be dissuaded, and not wanting him to stay angry at her, Mariah grabbed his hand and would not give up her hold when he tried to jerk it free. She forced him to stop and turn to her. “I'm sorry, Echohawk,” she murmured. “Please forgive me? I would never do anything to hurt you, nor your feelings. I . . . I think too much of you
and
your people. Have I not proved this to you by staying instead of going on to Fort Snelling?”

“I have wondered about this decision of yours,” Echohawk said, his voice wary. “But of course you know that. I have voiced this aloud to you more than once.”

“Then why question it again?” she murmured, her pulse racing as she moved closer to him. “Echohawk, we have found something special between us. Please, let's not do anything to jeopardize it.”

Echohawk reached his free hand out to her, placing it on her cheek. “
Ay-uh
, there is something special between us,” he said hoarsely. “But before it grows any stronger, there is much I must resolve inside my heart. Also, yourself. Do you not have much troubling you, that you have not spoken aloud to me? I have felt it in the hesitation of your voice at times.”

Mariah's face paled at the thought that he might be astute enough to catch her moods, which she had tried to keep hidden from him.

“But of course I have been torn about many things of late,” she murmured. “I am eighteen and I have just left home. Would you not feel somewhat unsettled were it you having made such a decision about family? I have separated myself from all of my life as I have known it. I have found a different way of life with your people—and am dismayed that I am able to accept it so easily, even enjoy it. So do you see why you felt my moods? Echohawk, I have not learned how to master them. Perhaps I never shall.”

“Nor have I, mine,” he said, in his mind's eye recalling so many things of his past that were gone from him forever. A wife. An unborn child. A mother. And now a father. “I, too, have things to resolve within my mind and heart. And I plan to resolve some of them today.”

He stepped closer to Mariah and framed her face between his hands, drawing her lips to his. “You are so much what I desire in a woman,” he whispered against her lips. “This is a part of what I must find answers to today. I will return you to my village and then I shall leave again, to go and commune, alone, with the Great Spirit. He will guide me. He knows everything about everything. He rules over all.”

His mouth covered Mariah's lips with a gentle kiss that left her weak. She drew a ragged breath when he drew away from her, her eyes filled with a soft wonder.

* * *

Mariah sat in Nee-kah's wigwam, trying to be an alert student as Nee-kah explained about the storage of food, but her mind kept wandering to Echohawk. He had been gone into the depths of the forest for several hours. The sky had just darkened into night, wolves baying at the full moon an eerie sound in the distance.

“No-din, the meat from the deer should be sliced up thin and hung up to dry in the sun,” Nee-kah said, quite aware that Mariah's mind was elsewhere. Her thoughts were clearly with Echohawk, who had left the village to commune with the Great Spirit. And from past experiences Nee-kah knew that Echohawk could be gone for days. As troubled as he was, he would not return until he had answers that would guide him into right decisions about his future, about his people, and about No-din.

“No-din, you break up the bones of the buffalo and boil them to get the grease out,” she explained softly, trying to reclaim Mariah's attention. “You take the large intestine and stuff it with a long piece of meat, raw. This whole thing is then boiled and eaten . . . No-din!” Nee-kah said, moving to her knees in front of Mariah, blocking her view of the fire that she had been so intensely staring at. “Our teachings are over for the night. Let us join our people outside by the fire. They are singing. Do you not hear them? They are singing in an effort to lift the spirits of those who have recently lost so much.” She took Mariah by the hand. “Come, No-din. Let us join them. You need some uplifting yourself.”

Mariah jumped with a start, having been shaken from her reverie by Nee-kah's determination. “What did you say?” she said, her voice lilting, her eyes wide.

“Let us join those outside by the fire,” Nee-kah urged, yanking on Mariah's hand as she rose to her feet. “We will sing. We will be happy!”

Mariah forced a smile and went outside with Nee-kah and sat down beside the fire with the rest of the people. Yet she could not help but glance toward the forest, wondering when Echohawk would be back, and what decisions he might have reached. She prayed to herself that the Great Spirit did not give him too many answers—those that could condemn her in his eyes.

* * *

In a place of serenity, where the stars and moon reached down through the umbrella of trees overhead, Echohawk placed tobacco on a rock as a tribute to the Great Spirit, begging the Great Spirit for guidance.