Pierce looked up as he loosened the saddle strap and watched Gray Eagle approach.
“I was concerned,” the Indian said.
Flashing a grin, Pierce put his worry to rest. “After I stopped to take care of Sue’s shoe, I spotted a deer. Beth had been taking a walk in the woods, and so she helped me field dress it for the nuns. I thought they might enjoy a fresh venison roast.” He hefted the leather off the animal. “Sorry about not helping you cut wood.”
Gray Eagle stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Joanie is very sick.”
“Has the lobelia tea run out?”
“The herb is not enough.”
Pierce shook his head. “Do you know of an alternative? We’re not even sure there’ll be a doctor in the next community.” Doctors were scarce in these parts. He hadn’t wanted to dash Beth’s hopes, but he knew the war had depleted the supply. Even if they got the women to the next town, there wasn’t any assurance there would be anyone there who practiced medicine.
“This is my fear as well. I’m going to speak to the chief.”
“And ask what?”
Gray Eagle didn’t answer. Pierce studied him for a long moment. The man was clearly torn about something. He had seen the same emotion cross the scout’s features more than once this week.
“There is one course of treatment I would like to try, but I would need his permission.”
With a short nod, Pierce said, “It goes without saying that whatever you can do to help her, you should do it.”
The village had settled down for the night. Smoke curled lazily from the low-burning cooking fires. Overhead, a summer storm drew close. Lightning illuminated the building thunderheads. Pausing before the chief’s dwelling, Gray Eagle gathered his thoughts. A woman standing by the entrance turned to greet him. Gray Eagle asked to speak to the chief.
Moments later the old man appeared. When Gray Eagle spoke in his native language, the chief stepped out of the house and the two men walked to the river.
“The coming rain will be good for the corn,” the chief said.
“Yes. It has been dry this year.”
“You speak your mother’s tongue.” The chief’s observation was not a question. Gray Eagle had visited the village many times in his youth. His great-grandmother had lived among this tribe.
Smiling, the younger Indian said, “I am the son of Walks-with-Sun.”
“Yes, I remember your mother. She was good woman.”
“I have come to make a request of you.”
“Speak.”
“The young woman, Joanie?”
“The Coughing One.” Already the women of the tribe had given Joanie a name.
“She is very ill. May I take her to the river?”
The chief’s faded eyes focused on the stream next to them.
“Not this river,” Gray Eagle said when he saw the direction the chief’s eyes had taken. “The Healing River.”
The chief remained fixed on the path. “You ask a great favor.”
“I would be deeply grateful if you would consider my request.”
The men walked in companionable silence. Overhead, night birds called to one another as the storm moved closer. “It is peaceful here,” the chief observed.
“I find great harmony in this place,” Gray Eagle admitted.
“You have fought in the war?”
“Yes.”
“And you have won?”
“No. The North won.”
The older man glanced over and a smile surfaced. “But you gave them a good fight.”
“The best I had.”
“Perhaps you knew my good friend, Stand Watie? His Indian name is Takertawker. Do you know the meaning?”
“Stand!” Gray Eagle broke into a grin. “We fought together at Bird Creek. I believe the name means to stand firm, immovable.” Stand was immovable all right, and more. He had been ready to support his convictions at any cost.
“My good friend is a most honorable man,” the chief said. “We met as young men. He came with family to the new territory many years ago.”
“Some say he was the only Indian to garner the rank of brigadier general,” Gray Eagle said. “Others say Ely Parker, a Seneca, also shared that great accomplishment.”
The chief appeared lost in memory. “My friend Stand grows old and gray, like me.”
“He has a lot of fight left in him still.” Gray Eagle glanced over. “As I am certain you do as well.”
“Not so much anymore. Time is a ruthless thief.” He smiled. “Your mother would take pride in you.”
Gray Eagle recalled the quiet woman who had loved and raised him in the community of his father’s people. “It is my wish to make her proud.”
“You have not taken wives?”
“Haven’t had the time. I’ve been too busy on the war front. I think I’ll follow my mother’s ways and take only one wife. It seems to me that the more wives a man has, the more headaches as well.”
The chief’s laughter boomed. Gray Eagle smiled with him.
Finally the chief said, “Your father, Dark Horse, was also a great warrior. He made the Cherokee stand tall against the enemy.”
They walked on as thunder rumbled in the distance, two tall men, regal in their heritage. Gray Eagle’s loose black hair blew in the wind.
The chief said, “This request you ask of me. The woman means much to you?”
“I barely know her, but I have…” He paused to consider. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “My heart takes great pity on her. I would like to help ease her pain. I fear that she will pass if she doesn’t get help.”
“To pass to the great beyond would not be a bad thing.”
“No, not bad, but she is tender and young. My hope is that she will have many more days and years on this earth.”
The chief crossed his arms over his chest as he stopped walking. He turned his proud profile toward the thunderheads, deep in thought. After a few moments he said, “Your request is granted.”
Relief filled Gray Eagle. “Your mercy will not be forgotten.”
The chief’s tone sobered. “The Great Spirit has given the red man this river.”
“The water is healing.”
Again, the wise smile appeared. “Only the Great Spirit heals. It is true that this river and its hot springs bring much relief to those who experience it, but the river itself holds no power.”
Only this small tribe knew of the hot springs’ existence. Gray Eagle’s mother had told him the legend many long years ago when she was dying. The springs had not helped her illness. A mighty Cherokee warrior had come across the hot bubbling waters spouting from the ground. His favorite wife, one whom he loved beyond all others, had been very ill. The couple lingered at the fascinating pools. Later, she pleaded to remain there, to soak every day in the strengthening water until she was healed. Her husband eventually built a village close by. The secret remained in the tribe for many years. No outsider soaked in the pools without the chief’s permission.
Turning, the chief extended his hand. Gray Eagle removed his knife from its sheath and sliced a piece of skin off the end of his thumb. Bright red blood flowed. Handing the knife to the chief, he did the same. The two men touched thumbs, blood mingling.
The bond was sealed.