Chapter 5

Star Blanket noted with great satisfaction the swollen lip and dark smudges under A-dam's eyes as they saddled the horses the next morning. She had slept well enough herself; A-dam's great body had kept her as warm and snug as a bear in its den.

"We'll ride an hour or so before we stop to eat," he announced. "I'd like to put as many miles as possible between us and those bodies."

He had unfastened the bonds that held her fast to him but had given her orders not to move an eyelash until they were ready to ride. Dutifully, she obeyed, sitting meekly with her hands in her lap and her eyes downcast.

Her acquiescence lasted until Adam began to loosen the halter on the nearest of the dead men's horses. "No!" she cried. "What do you do, English-manake?" She jumped to her feet, crossed the distance between them, and squeezed between him and the animal. "Why you do this?" she demanded.

"I told you, I'm going to let them loose. I'm not going to be charged with both murder and horse stealing if I can help it." He reached for the halter again, but she grabbed his hand.

"No, A-dam! You cannot!" She searched for a reasonable excuse to give him. "Wolves. If you let these fine horses go, wolves will eat them. You cannot be so... so cruel." Passionately, she threw her arms around the gelding's neck. "He too fine an animal to die for no thing!"

Adam dropped his hand. "I hadn't thought about the wolves," he admitted. "But we've got to do something with them."

"Yes," she agreed. "You must do something." She stroked the bay's neck. "You will think of something, A-dam. But you cannot let them die." She looked up at him, her lower lip quivering faintly. "Please, A-dam."

He shrugged. "All right. We'll keep them with us for now." He hoped he wouldn't live to regret the decision.

Once again, he tied her ankles under the horse. Even though her hands were free, Star Blanket's horse was guided by a lead line with no reins she could reach. She knew it was A-dam's revenge for her victory over the captured horses, and she didn't let it trouble her. If he was suspicious over her lack of protest when he tied her on the animal, he had given no sign of it. Perhaps he thought she had given up her attempts to escape. If so, all the better. She would not be fool enough to give him reason to be on guard again.

The rain had stopped, and rays of sunshine spilled through the verdant roof of the forest. Birds trilled bright melodies overhead, and there were flashes of rust brown and dull red and sometimes a brilliant red as birds fluttered from branch to branch.

Squirrels and chipmunks raced up and down the trunks of trees with a complete disregard for life and limb, often pausing to chatter angrily at the human intruders. One squirrel, his silky coat so dark it was almost black, had his cheeks so crammed with nuts that he looked to Star Blanket like an old man.

"Oh, A-dam," she called, "look at him." As her horse passed close to the tree, the squirrel scampered up and dove into a hole, immediately bobbing his head back out to glare at them.

Adam laughed. "Right now I'd rather see him grilled or even served up in a stew with biscuits. I'm starving." He continued gently, "It's not A-dam, Rebecca. Listen to the way I say it. Adam, not Ad-damn."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Adam."

He shook his head and repeated the syllables again.

"Adam."

"Better," he said. The soft Indian pronunciation was more musical, not so plain and hard. "You'll have to listen and try to make your speech more like mine."

"Why? You do not like my words?"

"It's got nothing to do with my liking or not liking. But people will expect... Oh, never mind, Rebecca. Your grandfather will explain it to you." He clicked to his horse, pretending to give all his attention to the faint trail ahead. How could he admit the thrill he felt each time she said his name in a way no one else had ever said it? Better to cut short the torture even at the risk of hurting her feelings. It was for her own good, after all. People would expect her to act and speak like a Bradford, not an Indian squaw.

"But, Adam, I—"

Adam's horse shied as an arrow plunged into a tree beside him. "Rebecca, get down!" he yelled, bringing his musket up to fire.

Star Blanket yelled something in Indian, then switched to English. "No, Adam! Don't shoot!" She spoke again in Shawnee and pointed to a low-hanging cedar. "There, Adam. See. Is only a boy."

Adam's black horse snorted and half reared as a child stepped onto the path ahead, a drawn bow in his small hands.

"Put down your gun," Star Blanket insisted. "He is alone."

"Maybe, maybe not. Tell him to lower his bow." Adam's eyes searched the forest for signs of movement. His mouth was dry, and the hair on his neck prickled. A little closer and he might have been killed by a brat who hardly looked old enough to be of school age!

Star Blanket argued in Shawnee with the boy for a few minutes; then he released the tension on his bowstring and removed the arrow, dropping it into the quiver on his back.

He stared at Adam, frowned, then motioned for them to follow him.

Star Blanket smelled the smoke of a campfire long before they reached the edge of the clearing. The boy led them around a cornfield that was as yet unharvested, toward a low, bark-covered shelter.

An old woman squatted beside the fire, turning corn cakes on a cast-iron griddle. She looked up in surprise at the riders, then called out a greeting in the Delaware tongue.

"We bid you peace," Star Blanket answered loudly in the same language. "Blessings on you and on this house."

The wrinkled face split into a toothless smile. She stood up slowly and directed questions to the boy.

"What's he saying to her?" Adam asked. "Do you understand them?" He thought the speech was much like Rebecca's Shawnee language, but he couldn't be certain.

"They are Lenni Lenape, what you call Delaware. They are of the Wolf Clan." Rebecca asked a quick question in Algonquian, then waited patiently as the old woman answered at length.

"They're not Shawnee?" Adam drew his horse close to Rebecca's. "Are there men about?"

"No, not Shawnee, Delaware. Shawnee, Delaware, Fox." Rebecca motioned with her hand. "Many tribe speak same tongue. We are..." She searched for the correct word. "Cousin. The Shawnee are cousin to the Delaware." She smiled reassuringly at the woman. "Her name is Ma-tethi-i-thi E-shi-que-chi, Ugly Face. The boy is her grandson." Star Blanket paused, then continued to translate. "There are two braves in this wigwam, but they are away hunting. That's why the boy shot his arrow at you. Now he hangs his head in shame. He did a foolish thing to attack an armed man without reason. We are welcome to share their food." She looked at Adam expectantly. "It will be an insult if we refuse."

The boy ducked his head to enter the small dwelling, letting the skin flap fall behind him. With hand motions and rapid speech, the grandmother repeated her invitation.

"How do we know it's safe?" Adam ventured.

Star Blanket laughed. "You are not afraid of one old woman and a small boy, English-manake? Is safe." She motioned toward the cornfield. "These people farmers, not warriors. If you do not take her food, the old woman will be afraid of you." She looked into his eyes guilelessly. "I tell them I am your wife."

"My wife? Tied to a horse?"

"I say I am bad wife." She covered a giggle with the palm of her hand. "Come, A-dam, you say you are hungry. Let us eat while the corn cakes are hot."

Cautiously, Adam dismounted and walked toward the wigwam. He pushed aside the skin flap with the barrel of his musket and peered inside the dim interior. "Tell the old woman we mean no harm," he said. He blinked, letting his eyes become accustomed to the faint light.

There was no movement in the hut. The walls were hung with bundles of animal hides and strips of dried pumpkin and squash; a large pottery bowl full of beans was propped in the center of the round dwelling, directly under the smoke hole. On the far side of the cold fire pit the boy huddled, his eyes clenched shut.

Adam sniffed, noting the unfamiliar but not unpleasant odors. Herbs and tobacco mingled with the musky scent of a bearskin and the sweet smell of freshly peeled willow wands.

Rebecca had been telling the truth. There was nothing here to fear. He turned to the two women and smiled. "Tell her thank you. We would be honored to eat with her," he said formally. "Tell her that her grandson has no need to be ashamed. He showed courage. I am not angry with him."

Star Blanket translated as Adam untied her ankles and lifted her down from the horse.

A wide grin covered the old woman's face. Unconsciously, she straightened her back as she motioned them toward the fire. For an instant, Adam saw her not as she was, leathery faced with snow white hair, but young and graceful. The old eyes twinkled and met his in perfect understanding. Then the high voice shouted an order to the boy. Shyly, he joined her, and they began to serve their guests.

It was nearly an hour before Star Blanket and Adam remounted. Adam was pleasantly full for the first time since leaving Sheffield, stuffed with the delicious corn cakes, grilled trout, and a hearty venison stew. A hind-quarter of venison was strapped to the back of the packhorse. Sometime during the meal, Star Blanket had talked their hosts out of enough supplies to keep them well fed for several days.

"What do they want in return?" Adam asked suspiciously.

Star Blanket shook her head vigorously. "No, you no understand, Adam. Is not a trade, is a gift. Now..." A suspicious glimmer appeared in her green eyes. "Now you must make a worthy gift."

Adam took Rebecca firmly about the waist and lifted her into the saddle of the black horse. "Such as?" Something told him she had already decided on a worthy gift.

"The two horses we took from the dead Germans," she replied softly. "One for the boy and one for the cocum tha—the grandmother. It is a noble gift, worthy of a warrior such as Adam Rourke." Her slim hands reached for the reins. "You cannot eat their food and insult them, English-manake."

Adam arched one thick brow dubiously. "And you think it shows good manners to return their hospitality with stolen horses? What happens if Steiner comes after the horses and hangs the both of them? Is that what you call fair?" He set a foot in the stirrup of his own mount.

"I promise the horses," Star Blanket said stubbornly. "I tell Ugly Face that you kill the bad men and take their horses. I tell her that you would leave them for the wolves." An undisguised note of satisfaction crept into her voice. "I say you are very brave for English-manake and not a baby killer."

"You told them?" Adam dropped into the saddle and stared at her. "You told them we killed the Germans?"

Star Blanket threw him a look of disgust. "They are Wolf Clan of the Lenni Lenape, Adam Rourke. They will not tell. Not if Steiner cut off their fingers one by one and throw them into the cooking fire. Not if—"

"You've made your point." Adam glanced from Rebecca to the old woman, who was grinning broadly and mumbling something to the boy.

The child dashed off into the bushes and returned a few minutes later leading a slim-legged bay mare with a white star on her forehead. Proudly, he handed the lead rope to Rebecca.

"Ugly Face gives us this fine mare," Rebecca proclaimed. "It is her gift. We cannot refuse."

"You traded those two stolen horses for the bay!"

"I did not!" Star Blanket protested.

"Damn it, woman! I will not be manipulated! You've put these people in danger."

"I have not," she replied hotly. "The cocumtha will trade our horses to the Susquehannock. He will trade to English-manake, who will trade to Dutch farmer, there." She pointed northeast. "Your head is like wood, Adam Rourke. Germans dead, wolf bait. They do not need their horses. You do not want the horses. The cocumtha does." She paused for breath. "We have a good mare. We have food for journey. Old woman and boy are happy. I am happy. Horses are not wolf bait. Only you are not happy." She shrugged. "Maybe English-manake too stupid to be happy."

Adam gritted his teeth and dug his heels into his horse, guiding the animal onto the rough track and away from the Indian camp at a trot. At that moment, he didn't care if Rebecca followed or not.

They rode in silence for a long time. The trail widened and became a rutted road, wide enough in most spots for a cart or small wagon to pass. Twice, they forded small creeks, one deep enough so that the water came up to the animals' chests.

On the far side, they dismounted and let the animals eat some of the thick grass on the stream bank while they shared the remainder of the corn cakes.

"You are still angry," Star Blanket ventured, as she knelt beside the fast-running water and cupped her hands to drink.

"Yes," he admitted, "I am." Adam carried the musket in the crook of his arm. Even though they had not seen a trace of another living soul, he was unwilling to let down his guard. The memory of the boy's arrow was too fresh in his mind.

"I think so." She drank deeply, splashing the cool water on her face and rinsing her hands free of crumbs. "If I tell you first, you say no. No give horses." She shrugged. "So I not tell until it is too late." She offered him a shy smile. You do have a head of wood, she thought. Anyone could see that trading the stolen horses made sense. Still, she must placate him. If he was angry with her, it would be harder to make her escape.

And it must be soon. Tonight at the latest. She must win her freedom before they came too close to the settlements along the Chesapeake. Here, in the forests, she could find her way. She would use the path of the sun by day and the stars by night. They would blaze a trail for her, a trail that any Shawnee child could follow, a trail that would lead home to the Ohio country and her people.

When she was free, she would travel so fast on the fine English horses that no man could catch her. She could ride for many days and nights without sleep—she had done it before in times of war. She would bring home the horses and the little pistol. She would be a rich woman, rich enough to win the attention of any man she desired.

Star Blanket mounted again and rode docilely behind Adam. Her hands guided the horse, her eyes watched the trail, and her lips answered when Adam spoke to her. But her mind was far away. Clearer than the soft brown mane beneath her fingers was the image of a Shawnee warrior, a warrior with a scar over his right eye. Meshepeshe, the Panther. Meshepeshe with his laughing eyes. Meshepeshe who had offered her his blanket at the last Corn Dance, then chose another when she refused him.

A smile curved her full bottom lip. Meshepeshe had danced with She Who Whispers, wrapping her in his French trade blanket of scarlet wool. Later, they had slipped away in the moonlight as many couples did during the Corn Dance. He had hoped to make Star Blanket jealous. She sighed, wondering even now why she hadn't been.

She Who Whispers was free with her favors—too free, the old women said, even for a widow. Her body was soft and full, and she had a pleasing face. Yet Meshepeshe's eyes had followed Star Blanket as his feet had followed the steps of the Corn Dance. His arms had held She Who Whispers, while his heart had longed for another.

Star Blanket's smile grew into a throaty chuckle. A widow could do as she pleased among the Shawnee. A wife must remain faithful and a maiden pure, but a widow made her own choices without blame. She herself had been widowed two... no—how fast the moons flew by—she had been a widow for nearly three years as the white men counted. So long. There were times when she could not even remember the gentle boy who had been her husband. A little shiver passed through her. How could she forget him so easily?

He who had been her husband, the one whose name she could not speak, had been her friend since the first day she had come to live with the Shawnee. Inu-msi-ila-fe-wanu, the Great Female Spirit, had seen fit to have this child born with a crooked foot. Never had the boy been able to run, or even to walk, without limping. Only in the water had he been free of his handicap. Give him a creek or river to swim in and he became an otter! He won the prizes for swimming even against full-grown warriors.

And in fairness, because the Great Spirit had held back something at his birth, he had been gifted with a wonderful skill. His hands knew the secrets of stone and copper. Arrowheads and spearpoints, axes and amulets, came as if by magic from shapeless rocks at his hearth. He was a poor hunter, having little strength to track game or to bring it home once it had been slain, but his arrowheads had brought down more animals than there were stars in the sky.

And, wonder of wonders, he had been a spinner of stories. Marvelous tales! Tales of how the earth was formed and how the People came to be spilled from its lips. Star Blanket had sat by the hour listening to his stories when they were children. And later, when they had passed from childhood into man and maiden, they had joined in marriage.

Star Blanket swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked away the moisture in her eyes. She would not forget him! His spirit had been stronger than his body, and she would not let that spirit fade away.

A tear slipped down her tanned cheek, and she wiped it ruthlessly away. He had told her not to cry for him. He had made her promise.

They had married in the time of the young corn. His withered body had been laid in the earth before the first snowflake fell in winter. So short a time...

Star Blanket sighed. She had returned to her father's house, a widow before she had really become a wife. That first winter had passed in sorrow. Spring, with its first green shoots of life, had brought back her laughter, and by summer she could think of him and remember his wonderful stories. By the time the geese flew south in the time of turning leaves, she had ceased to hate the white men who had brought the sickness to her people, and she had learned the name of her husband's murderer—measles. That winter had brought healing to her troubled soul, and in the greening time, her parents had begun to suggest that she think of marrying again.

Star Blanket dug her heels into her horse's side and guided it close to Adam. Many men had boasted before her father's wigwam, and Meshepeshe had even tied his horse there for two days and two nights. But she had not fed it or even offered the animal water. She was not ready to choose another. Sometimes she wondered if she ever would be.

"Adam! Adam!" she called.

He turned his head to look down at her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She laughed. "Nothing is wrong, English-manake. I only think of something funny. I think you are right. You wanted to give the fine horses of the Germans to the wolves." Her emerald eyes twinkled mischievously. "I argued with you, Adam. But..." She shrugged. "The wolves got them anyway, didn't they?" She waited expectantly for him to join her in shared laughter. "The horses," she repeated. "It was meant to be."

Adam's brow creased in puzzlement. "What? I don't understand. The wolves didn't get them. You traded them to those Delaware."

Giggling, Star Blanket covered her mouth with her hand. "You not see?" she gasped between spurts of laughter. "You not see, Adam? The Delaware are the wolves! They are Wolf Clan."

Feeling foolish, Adam ran a hand through his hair and forced a smile. "I guess you're right," he admitted weakly. "In a manner of speaking, the wolves did get the horses."

"Wooden head," she taunted. "You English, you cannot laugh. Is funny." Shaking her head at the unfathomable reasoning of the whites, Star Blanket let the black horse fall back into line. No wonder we cannot understand each other. The whites are just not very intelligent. Still, it was hard to think of Adam Rourke as stupid. There must be some other explanation for his lack of humor, she decided. It does not matter. After tonight, I will never see him again. She wondered why the thought gave her little satisfaction.