Shawnee Bride (7 page)

Small as it was, the bachelor lodge seemed spacious after the crowded clutter of Swan Feather’s dwelling. His possessions lay exactly as he had left them, the musket resting stock down with its long barrel leaning against a wall, the hastily discarded bow and quiver, the rumpled bed and the lifeless black hole of the fire pit. How silent it was, this private place of his. How cold and lonely the nights would be without the whisper of Clarissa’s breathing to warm the darkness.

Clarissa wheeled on the slippery grass, her fingers clawing at the leather ball. She feinted to the left, then raced to the right, but she was not fast enough. Three lithe brown bodies slammed into her at once, knocking her off balance. As she went down, the ball spun out of her grip, to be snatched up by other hands and swept off in the opposite direction with the shrieking players in pursuit.

For the space of a long breath she lay on the trampled green, feeling the pain of every bruise, twist and jolt. This crude Shawnee sport was as rough as the gauntlet, she groused, and today’s skirmish was only a practice game between two teams of women. What would it be like playing against the men tomorrow?

The Shawnee women, most of them naked except for small leather aprons front and back, hooted as the ball shot between two goalposts at the far end of the field. Any adult female who judged herself physically able was allowed to play, and teenage girls bounced along beside hobbling white-haired crones. Clarissa, who’d insisted on playing fully clothed, had been made to understand that she was representing Swan Feather, who had grown too
arthritic to compete. Her presence in the game would bring honor to Swan Feather’s lodge.

She struggled to her feet as the players stampeded back in her direction. Aside from her time in the moon lodge, she had practiced with the team every .afternoon. The women, she had learned, could carry the ball with their hands. The men would only be allowed to bat or kick it toward the goal. Aside from that, there seemed to be no rules at all. Kicking, gouging, trampling a downed player and other such forms of mayhem were not only acceptable but roundly cheered. All to the good, Clarissa reminded herself. The wilder the game, the better the chances for her escape.

As she hurried to rejoin the play, she caught sight of a tall familiar figure standing on the far side of the field, talking with Hunts-at-Night. Wolf Heart was nearing full recovery from his injuries. He moved freely about the village now and no longer needed help with fire-making or meals. It was well-known, however, that he did not plan to take part in the ball game. The rough play would present too much of a risk to his healing ribs.

Thrusting his unsettling presence from her mind, she waded full bore into the melee of shrieking, charging women. The ball had flown loose, eluding a score of grabbing sweat-slicked hands. Seeing a sudden opening, Clarissa flung herself toward it. She felt her outstretched fingers close around the ball. Her fingernails dug hard into the wet leather, and in the next instant she was breaking free, streaking across the grass toward the opposing team’s goal.

What she lacked in weight and strength, Clarissa made up in speed. Her long legs ate up the ground, putting more and more distance between herself and her howling
pursuers. Exhilaration welled up inside her, bursting out of her throat as a savage, whooping cry.

Just ahead she could see the two goalposts. Fixing her attention on them, she brought her arm back for the throw. So intent was she on an accurate aim that she did not see the two willowy forms darting at her from the side. Only when their hands seized her flying skirts did she become aware of the girls who had shared her first time in the moon lodge. By then it was too late. The drag on her gown threw her off stride, causing her feet to tangle. Her own momentum sent her pitching forward, and she landed facedown on the grass.

The ball popped from her grasp as she fell. One of the girls snatched it up and the two of them raced shrieking in the other direction. Dazed by the impact, Clarissa rose shakily to her knees. Stars spun in her vision. She blinked them away, her cheeks flaming with humiliation as she imagined Wolf Heart laughing at her.

“That was a good run.” White Moon stopped beside her and extended a hand to help her up. Even with her sweat-tousled hair and her pear-shaped breasts dangling over her ribs, she managed to look dignified. “Run like that in tomorrow’s game, and the men will be gathering firewood!”

Clarissa massaged a bruised hip as the women’s chief signaled the end of the day’s practice. “I couldn’t outrun Red Fawn and Laughing Bird,” she said ruefully. “They seemed to come at me from nowhere!”

“So they did!” White Moon laughed as they walked together. “Those two little minxes were waiting on the side of the field, and they dashed in and grabbed you as you ran past them! But don’t worry, they’ll be playing on your side tomorrow.”

“Do you really think we have a chance of winning?”
Clarissa looked straight ahead, avoiding White Moon’s open, friendly gaze. This pretended interest in the game was necessary, she knew. But she could not help disliking herself for it.

“We have an excellent chance!” The women’s chief responded with enthusiasm. “Especially with Wolf Heart out of the game!”

“Is Wolf Heart a good player?” Clarissa asked, her interest no longer feigned.

“Oh, yes!” White Moon laughed. “Wolf Heart is the best player in the village. For five years he has led the men’s team against us, and we have gathered firewood after every game.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What a shame you will not be playing against him. You would enjoy it, I think, even if we lost.”

Color flashed in Clarissa’s cheeks as White Moon’s gentle teasing sank home. She imagined the gossip in the moon lodge and the village garden patches. What were people saying about her and Wolf Heart?

Before she could frame a response, White Moon touched her arm. “Wait here,” she said. “I have something for you.”

She trotted to the edge of the clearing. When she returned she was carrying a small rolled object made of leather. “For you,” she said, pressing it into Clarissa’s hand.

Clarissa’s heart sank as she shook out White Moon’s gift to its true shape. It was a small leather apron, fashioned with a thong and two flaps, identical to the brief garments the other women wore in the game.

She dangled the scanty garment between her thumb and forefinger as gingerly as if White Moon had presented her with a dead squirrel. Color flamed hot in her face as she imagined wearing it even in private. “I thank
the giver,” she said, struggling to be gracious and honest at the same time, “even though I question the wisdom of the gift.”

“It is not required that you wear it,” White Moon assured her gently. “I understand that among white people it is shameful for a woman to show her body. But we have no such shame here. We dress as we do so we can move freely in the game and so our clothing can’t be seized by other players, as yours was today.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Clarissa stammered, feeling foolish. “I wouldn’t offend you for the world, but I can’t—I truly can’t—” She rolled up the tiny apron with unsteady fingers and would have returned it if White Moon had not laid a light hand on her wrist.

“No offense is taken. Keep my small gift. If you change your mind, it will be there for you. If not, I will understand.”

“You are too kind to me. Everyone here is too kind to me.” Clarissa thrust the rolled leather awkwardly into her pocket, meaning the words in a deeper sense than White Moon could possibly have known. If the Shawnee were cruel to her, everything would be easier. She would not be constantly torn. She would simply be able to hate them.

“If you are given more kindness than you can hold, pass some of it on That, my daughter, is as much as our grandmother expects of us.” For the space of a heartbeat, White Moon’s strong fingers tightened around Clarissa’s wrist. Then she smiled and strode across the field toward the place where her husband stood with Wolf Heart beside him.

After the first few steps she paused to glance back over her shoulder, and Clarissa knew she was being invited to come along. Swiftly she shook her head and turned away
in the opposite direction. Her relationship with Wolf Heart had been strained since his departure from Swan Feather’s lodge. Clarissa had found herself avoiding him on her errands through the village—and aching to see him although she stayed out of his path. The memory of his searing kisses haunted every hour of her existence, waking and sleeping. Sometimes the longing to be near him was so strong that she almost cried out with the pain of it. But she knew she could not give in to her desires. She could not allow her love for Wolf Heart to hold her prisoner.

The afternoon sun blazed hot, drying the sweat that soaked her hair and clothes to a salty crust. While the other women were still milling about the playing field would be a good time for a solitary swim, Clarissa resolved as she strode into the trees and set her moccasins on the path to the pool. Over the past moon, she had taken every opportunity to practice her swimming. Although she might never match the otterlike grace of the young Shawnee, and she had yet to dive from the ledge on her own, she handled herself with confidence in the water. She would never fear it again.

As she passed the berry thicket at the top of the ledge, Clarissa hesitated. White Moon’s gift lay rolled in her pocket, a slight but provocative bulge. She would never wear such a scanty garment, of course, but curiosity buzzed like a pesky insect in her brain. How would she look wearing the little leather apron? How would it feel against her bare skin?

Privacy was rare in the Shawnee village. Even Swan Feather’s lodge was no refuge from inquisitive eyes. If she truly wanted to try on the apron, there would be no more secluded place than here, no better time than now.

After checking carefully in every direction, she slipped
into the bushes where a small open space formed a natural bower that served handily as a dressing room. She had always swum in her clothes, or at least in her chemise and drawers. This time would be no different. She would try the apron, then get dressed again before following the zigzag path down to the water’s edge.

Feeling more than a little wicked, she hung the leather apron on a twig, then began removing her sweaty clothes. Her dress and undergarments, which she had worn night and day for nearly two months, were so frayed and matted that they no longer seemed to be made of cloth. Clarissa peeled them away like a snake shedding its skin-and like skin, the fabric held the shape of her body for an instant before slumping into a lifeless ring around her feet. She stood as naked as Eve in the circle of thorny bushes that were just beginning to flower. Her mauve nipples puckered tautly as a stray breeze slipped over her skin. The russet nest at the joining of her thighs glistened in a beam of sunlight.

Trembling, she reached for the apron, adjusted it around her hips and double-knotted the ends of the leather thong. The flaps covered the essentials front and back, but little more. How strange it seemed, to be wearing so little.

She raised her arms, feeling the lightness of sun and air on her skin as she had never felt them before. A giddy sense of freedom swept over her as she turned one way, then the other in the prickly confines of the blackberry patch. How would it feel to run through a windswept meadow like this, unhindered by skirts and corseting? How reckless it would be! How glorious!

How unthinkable!

A blue jay, perched smartly on an overhanging hickory limb, cocked its crested head at her. Its black eyes, bright
with interest, seemed to follow every move of her nearly naked body. “Shoo!” Clarissa waved her hands at the troublesome bird, but it only fluttered to a higher branch, where it sat wagging its head and scolding her in its raucous voice.
Shame,
it seemed to say.
Shame, shame, shame!

“Oh, hush!” Clarissa tossed her moccasin at the jay-a move that was as unwise as it was impulsive. The shoe caught on a low branch of the hickory tree and hung there, just out of reach. When she stretched on tiptoe, straining to retrieve it, the vicious blackberry thorns jabbed into her tender flesh.

Biting back a whimper of pain, she glared up at the dangling shoe and at the bird, which had fluttered to a higher limb and seemed to be laughing at her now. She was frustrated and annoyed with herself, but she had to get her shoe back, and standing here fussing wasn’t going to do the job.

Putting her temper aside, Clarissa forced herself to think. Retrieving the shoe would be simple if she had a long stick. All she needed to do was find a broken branch on the ground or snap one off a tree. The only trouble was, there was nothing usable here in the middle of the blackberry thicket. She would need to look outside.

She reached for her gown, only to find its frayed bodice hopelessly enmeshed in the thorns. She struggled with it for a moment but only succeeded in pricking her fingers and pulling dress and thorns into a tighter tangle. Overcome by impatience, she flung the gown aside. She was quite alone here, and it would take no more than a moment or two to get the moccasin out of the tree. That done, she could take her time with the dress.

Glancing around to make sure no one was coming, she slipped out of the thicket and onto the path.

For the space of a few heartbeats, she stood perfectly still, stunned by the feel of being in the open without her clothes. The breeze was so sweet on her bare skin that she shivered with pleasure. She flung out her arms and spun like a giddy child, drunk with the strange freedom of it. She had
wanted
to try out this new sensation, she realized. She had wanted it all along. The moccasin in the tree had only provided an excuse.

Her whole body tingled with awareness as she walked to the brink of the ledge and paused, looking down at the crystal blue water below—water that came close to matching the color of Wolf Heart’s eyes. For a long moment she imagined leaping into space, diving head down, arrow straight, as the young Shawnee girls did, then feeling the ring of water explode around her body, the bubbles rippling over the surface of her bare skin. Was it possible? Could she really do it?