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LITTLE SWAN PRESSED the cloth to a cut on Thomas’ left arm. He moaned. He writhed sideways.
Elizabeth pushed the girl’s fingers away. “I know you are trying to help, and I thank you for doing so,” she whispered. “But he does not wish anyone’s touch but mine.”
Thank goodness the girl had acquired enough English since Elizabeth had first met her two months ago in the Patapsco Valley that they could speak, even if the meaning was sometimes skewed and they had to use their hands.
“So many.” Little Swan swished her hands above him. She pointed to cut after cut. “The tick tock.”
Elizabeth’s brow wrinkled. “Time?”
“Yes.” Little Swan nodded her head.
Elizabeth sighed. “I am going nowhere, Little Swan.”
After washing each cut, she applied the same greasy, bitter smelling poultice Red Bear had smoothed onto her hand. The large wounds she filled with the ointment. She would work her way from his head to his feet. She would then lay at his side, weave her fingers into his, sleep a little, and start again. That night, ‘twas the small central fire in the center of the hut that lit her way down his body even as the smoke rose to the stars through the hole in the roof.
The next morning Iron Gun summoned her. She had been terrified he would take her against her will. Instead, he offered her a seat on the ground before him.
Unlike other chiefs, he was not given to learning English nor French, so he spoke to her through Little Swan. He insisted he would see Elizabeth bore strong warrior sons. He lifted his hand around his hut, which was certainly the largest in the village. He swept his hand across the sweet soup in her lap, assuring her she would be well provided for.
“Iron Gun say Squithetha Nenothtu be happy here,” Little Swan translated.
Elizabeth gripped the bowl of soup in her lap. The resentment crushed her. “But I cannot be so. This is not my home.” Maryland was not either, but ‘twas far better than this place deep in the forest that emptied her lungs and fuddled her mind.
Little Swan seemed hesitant to translate.
“Tell him!” Elizabeth cared not if she offended the old man.
Little Swan did as she bade. The chief glared at Elizabeth.
“And tell him, again, that Thomas is innocent and knew not that his wife and child were in the cabin. Is it really so hard to believe that he could have been lied to? We are in a war after all. And he did allow me to help his son.”
Little Swan again spoke. Iron Gun’s reply was short and raspy.
Little Swan turned to her. “Iron Gun wants . . .” She rubbed her fingers together. “Sure . . .” She lifted her gaze upward.
“Proof?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Where was Elizabeth to find such?
“And Elizabeth.” She looked away.
Elizabeth’s gut twisted. “What is it?”
“Another two or three nights. Mother Earth swallows rains. You keep Thomas alive. He burns then.”
The bowl slid from her hands. The soup spilled to the ground.
The decision still stood?
She jerked to her feet. She glared at the chief.
He was worse than the English kings with their decrees and wanton taking of lives.
And Thomas? Was she healing the man only to put him back into the pyre?
“Tell him to spare Thomas and to burn me instead.”
“Elizabeth!” Little Swan’s face widened with the horror. “No!”
“You do not fool me. You are angry at Red Bear, but you would do the same.”
The girl flushed red.
“Tell him, or I will find a way to take my life and Thomas’ before the week is out.”
“’Tis a sin,” Little Swan gasped. “You burn in hell.”
“’Twill be little different than burning here and at your father’s hands.” She whirled around, threw back the hide, and stepped into more rain. She plodded her way back to the hut and Thomas.
A half an hour later Little Swan returned. Her red face quivered with wetness. “Father.” She hesitated. She pointed and brought her finger back. She bit her lip. “Blue Hoof.”
“Your father sends for him?”
She nodded. “And Father asks others of raid. But not want to.” The tears deepened. “Father feels betrayed. I love White Man’s God on cross. Father wishes Thomas burn. Wishes to prove to me and others Wishemenetoo stronger than White Man’s God.”
Cher Dieu! She was a thousand miles from home and caught in the same old war. After all, French blood may well flood Acadian veins, but the heart of the British grievances and fear was the fact the Acadians were Catholic.
The rain pounded them for two more days. Village rivulets turned into ditches. Ditches turned into creeks. The Ohio River breached its banks. More than once Elizabeth prayed for its continual rise, for if the river inundated the camp, the Braves would have little thought of Thomas or her. She could then wage a war against the river, and the odds of winning were far better.
She was brought through the rain to Iron Gun’s tent each day. She was fed good food. She was gifted with new clothes and jewelry. At each visit, she inquired about Blue Hoof’s arrival. She insisted Thomas was innocent. She demanded they be released. She asked the man to change his mind about the burning. She spoke to him of the power of her God and the weakness of Wishemenetoo.
Each time Iron Gun’s face froze in a frown and she was sent away. Afterward, always, she could hear Little Swan and the man arguing.
Back in the tent, she plied Thomas with meaty soups and broths. He spoke to her with weakened hands. He fingered the rosary beads, but Elizabeth was not certain he prayed. Minor cuts and scratches began to heal. Some disappeared altogether, but others would never go away. One particularly nasty cut from his ear to his chin was likely to shadow his jaw the rest of his life.
Occasionally, he murmured his thanks. At other times, he would whisper he loved her. Invariably, as if she might not have heard, he clenched his fist, bounced it twice, then splayed the fingers outward.
By the time Elizabeth clenched her own fist in a reply, the man had again slipped away.
The morning of the fourth day the sun lifted into a cloudless sky and steam clouded the ground. Thomas lay awake more than he slept. Still, they spoke little, for there seemed to be nothing to say, and Elizabeth was afraid to speak of their worst fear.
At noon, Little Swan entered the tent. Red Bear stood behind her.
“Blue Hoof here,” she said. “Iron Gun sends for P’cataweh Wawakotichethe and Squithetha Nenothtu.”
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THOMAS’ HEAD DIZZIED. The hide on Red Bear’s hut waved right and left. He blinked. Red Bear grabbed his arm.
“You are so stubborn.” Elizabeth squeezed his fingers. “Why could you not have been carried here?”
“I will nae appear weak.” Especially since he had been given a second chance to clear his name and get the lass and he both home. “Just keep holding onto me in one way or another and I will be fine.” He nodded at Red Bear. The brave pulled the hide back.
Thomas stepped inside. He blinked and adjusted his sight to the dimmer light. Iron Gun pressed Thomas to the ground opposite Red Bear. The embers of a spent fire glowed between them. To the chief’s left, Blue Hoof shot an icy glare at Thomas. Other braves sat around the men and to the sides of the hut.
Thomas lowered to the ground. He pulled Elizabeth down and to his side. He set their joined hands on his bent knee.
Iron Gun stared at their clasped fingers a long moment, then lifted his gaze to Thomas and spoke in Shawanese. “Blue Hoof has come. He will tell his story.”
The brave stood. He set off on a long, customarily flowering speech about the white man and the grievances they had perpetrated against the Indians. He then flat out lied and said he had told Thomas that Iron Gun’s wife and child were in the cabin.
Thomas ground his teeth tight.
Blue Hoof sat back down.
This was not going to go well.
Red Bear launched into another long soliloquy about the dangers of believing one man or the other. He insisted, in Shawanese, that Thomas had never lied nor warred against Iron Gun. “He should be let go with a promise to wage war no more against the Shawanese.”
Iron Gun cast long looks at Red Bear, at Little Swan, and around to the others. His gaze then landed on Elizabeth.
‘Twas clear he wanted her as Red Bear said he would.
The chief turned to Blue Hoof. “Iron Gun not trust words that fall from lips of Blue Hoof.”
The brave’s mouth opened in surprise.
“Heart of Blue Hoof full of angry fire. Others have said so.”
The chief turned to Thomas. “Heart of Iron Gun grieves for its white son, P’cataweh Wawakotichethe. The rain these past days have been Iron Gun’s tears at the bridge between two friends that has burst from beneath. But a vote was cast, and I have no proof of your innocence.”
His gaze slid to Little Swan sitting beside Elizabeth. “My daughter convinces me Squithetha Nenothtu will not be happy here because her love for P’cataweh Wawakotichethe runs too deep, and an unhappy neewa does not bear a man good, strong sons.”
Thomas’ heart sank.
He might not save himself. But could he save Elizabeth?
“I am an innocent man.” Thomas pressed his left hand against his chest. “But Iron Gun may do with me as he wishes. I only ask that Elizabeth is sent back home. Her father loves her and wishes to bring her to his home in Nova Scotia.”
The chief’s eyes softened. He looked to either side. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling.
Was he having regrets at the sentence given Thomas? What had happened to temper him in the few days Thomas had lain near death’s door?
The man brought his eyes back to Thomas. “As a son to a father, Iron Gun will honor wish of Black Fox’s heart. Red Bear will leave within the hour to take white woman home.”
The chief paused. His lips quivered.
“But Black Fox will burn at sundown.”
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SWEAT POURED INTO THOMAS’ hands. His shoulder quivered against Elizabeth’s. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.
Elizabeth grabbed Little Swan’s arm. “What did Iron Gun say?”
“Girl Warrior go home.”
She would?
Elizabeth’s heart lifted with the joy.
She turned to Thomas.
He still had not raised his head nor opened his eyes. She twisted back to Little Swan. “And Thomas?”
Her eyes watered. “He still burns this night.”
“No!” The blood drained from her. “He is innocent! He let me heal Boy Sun!”
His hand tightened on hers.
What good was her release if Thomas was not with her?
If we are captured, we survive and hope for a rescue or ransom.
How could they ever hope to find their way back to each other if he were dead?
She jerked to her feet. “Little Swan.” Her hand slipped from Thomas’. “Tell Iron Gun that if he will let Black Fox go this very hour I will willingly marry him.”
“No!” Thomas staggered upward.
“Tell him, Little Swan!”
“Ye canna do this!” Thomas grabbed Elizabeth and spun her around to face him. “Ye will have to lie with him.”
She flinched.
“Ye will bear his children.” The words strangled past his throat.
Iron Gun stood. His gaze rove up and down Elizabeth. He spoke Shawanese words to Little Swan.
“My father says he will be pleased to marry a woman so brave, but she must not speak of her White God again.”
“Then he must allow me to pray in private.”
Thomas grabbed her head. He twisted her to face him. “I will nae allow ye to do this.” The words ricked through his teeth. “Do ye nae see, Elizabeth? Ye are seeking yer ain possibly perpetual abandonment.”
Her fingers sank into his torn, lashed shoulders. “And you said yourself we survive, and we hope for a rescue or a ransom.”
His face trembled. His eyes filled with water.
Iron Gun barked orders. Braves rushed toward them. Thomas was dragged from her.
“P’cataweh Wawakotichethe,” Iron Gun announced. “Mat-teh cut-ta-ho-tha.”
Relief swept Elizabeth’s frame. She understood those words. He would not burn.
Then more words from the chief. She turned to Little Swan.
“Dance. Tonight,” she said. “Girl Warrior marry Iron Gun. Black Fox watch and then go.”