Swift Horse

His sister would soon speak vows with Edward James Eveland. That meant he would get to see more of the beautiful, petite, golden-haired white woman who spent most of her days hidden away at the back of the trading post, where there were living quarters for her and her brother.

From the moment she had arrived at his village, he had only been able to see her a few times, and that was when she was at the trading-post store, helping her brother.

He had wanted to see her more often, even speak to her by name, yet thus far all that he had been able to do was get glances of her. But that had been enough to convince him that he wanted to know more about her, and be with her. He had not been able to get this woman off his mind from the moment he first saw her.

But he knew that she had been traumatized by people of his own skin coloring, when renegades had come out of nowhere and murdered her parents. He knew this because Edward James had explained the tragedy to Swift Horse when Swift Horse had questioned him about this woman who seemed to be so sad and withdrawn.

After Swift Horse heard the story, something deep within him wanted to make things right for her again. Yet . . . again . . . there was the fact that his skin was the same color as those who had brought this sadness into her eyes.

Could she ever see beyond his red skin and know that he was not at all like the renegades? That he was a man of kindness and good heart who wanted nothing but good for those he loved?

Chapter 6

I regret little, I would change still less.

—Robert Browning

The late-afternoon sun was twining its way through the multicolored autumn leaves. Marsha sat on a blanket beside her brother, who kept gazing at Soft Wind, who sat by her own brother’s side in the center of a circle of people who had come from other villages to make plans for the upcoming hunt.

The council was usually held in the huge council house, but the day of this meeting being so lovely, it was being held outside, instead.

Marsha felt awkward being there. This was her first time participating in anything with the Creek, but she felt she had no choice when her brother told her that now that he was going to marry Soft Wind, Marsha must involve herself in Creek activities that ofttimes included him because he was the resident storekeeper of the trading post.

The day had been long and Marsha was weary. Her back ached as she tried so hard to sit there trying to look attentive while first one warrior and then another, spoke his mind about the hunt, as their chief and people sat listening.

But now the council was drawing to a close. Marsha knew this to be so, because Edward James had told her that when the village shaman, Bright Moon, sat down before his chief and performed some sort of ceremony, the council would soon be over.

Bright Moon was there now, taking several things that Marsha did not recognize from his buckskin bag. Her brother had said that when the shaman did this, he was preparing medicine for the purpose of attracting deer for his chief and those who would be participating in the upcoming hunt.

She now knew, too, how important the deerskin trade was to the Creek. Slowly she was learning the ways of the Creek, which she knew was important since she was living among them.

While Bright Moon continued making medicine as everyone sat mutely quiet and attentive around him, Marsha again became lost in thought. Since her parents’ deaths, she had not wanted to mingle with any Indians, even though she was truly intrigued by Chief Swift Horse.

But today, for her brother’s sake, she had had no choice but to do as he had asked. He had told her that everyone who was attending the council must think positive at all times, for it was said that any negative feelings felt by anyone would keep the deer away. Marsha tried not to look too bored, or too anxious for this meeting to be over. She especially tried not to think anything negative.

She had to confess to herself that she had enjoyed having the opportunity to have a closer look at Chief Swift Horse, who intrigued her more and more every time she saw him. But someone else had drawn her attention more than once this waning afternoon. She looked again at the black man.

She had seen him yesterday before he had been given clean clothes to wear. She knew how terribly scarred his back was. This evening he was standing at the back of the circle of people, his dark eyes wide as he watched the shaman preparing his special medicine.

She could tell that his intrigue of this shaman, and perhaps the Creek as a whole, was as great as was Marsha’s of Swift Horse. She knew his name now. It was Abraham. And he was clothed today in clean, fringed buckskins, his shirt left open in front to keep the material loose from his back so that his injuries there would heal better.

He wore no bandages, but she knew that he had been doctored by Bright Moon, and that was surely why Abraham watched the elderly conjurer so intensely. It was apparent that he believed in the man now. He also seemed to be comfortable with the Creek, a people who had not only offered him kindness, but also a home.

She had seen him taken to a vacant cabin at the edge of town, which he now made his residence, and had watched several Creek women coming and going from the cabin, taking food, blankets, and furniture. She would never forget the look of awe in Abraham’s dark eyes as he had watched the procession of women bringing things to him.

It was apparent that during his lifetime he had never had anything of his own, nor anyone to treat him with even a measure of kindness.

As Abraham sat slowly down on the blanket that one of the women had given to him, Marsha turned her eyes away. She did not want him to catch her staring at him, even though she could hardly help it. She was in total dismay at how he had made his way so far from where he had been a slave. He had traveled even farther than Marsha, and she had found the journey grueling at times even though she had the comforts of a wagon.

He had traveled the full distance on his bare feet and with a back that had been terribly mutilated by those who claimed him as theirs.

It touched her heart deeply that Swift Horse had taken Abraham in and had vowed to protect him from any more harm.

This proved, too, that these Creek people were vastly different from those who had ta

ken her parents’ lives. The renegades’ lives were centered around murdering and maiming and wreaking havoc wherever they could get away with doing it.

She prayed often to herself that they would never make their way here, to this Creek village. She would hate to see things change from how they were now, a place where Marsha was finally beginning to feel at ease and at peace with herself. She knew how important this was since her brother was going to be bringing a Creek woman into their home, to stay.