Swift Horse

She thought again about why the shaman was making medicine. For the deer hunt. Again she thought about the importance of not allowing anything negative into the village that might harm their hunt.

She had to wonder if Abraham’s mere presence, or her own, might bring something negative to the hunt. They were both new to the Creek.

She had noticed how some of the Creek people had looked over their shoulders more than once at Abraham, and some even at her. That had made her uneasy, for she could not help but think that those few might see both her and Abraham as an interference in their lives at a time when all should be calm and normal, and perhaps a danger to their livelihood—to their hunt.

She made herself forget those thoughts, for she knew that her brother was loved by everyone there, so surely they saw her as someone who was as kind and warm as well. She had spent as little time at the store as possible, going there only when her brother asked for her help. Otherwise, she had kept to herself. By doing that, however, might she have made herself look as though she didn’t like the Creek people, or did not trust them?

She realized now that she must do things differently in order to gain their trust, especially to gain Swift Horse’s admiration.

She glanced toward Abraham again, and saw how his head hung. He had fallen asleep, and she understood why. He was still surely trying to catch up on the rest he had lost while fleeing.

The thought of someone having actually held him imprisoned as a slave, and having actually killed his family, which was the true reason he had fled Florida, sickened Marsha. She had never believed in slavery and felt that all people should be free.

She admired Swift Horse for having taken a chance by allowing Abraham to stay among his people, when it was known, wide and far, that many Indians were now, by force, living on reservations. Those Indians, in a sense, were now no less than slaves themselves. She had to wonder if Swift Horse and his people lived in dread of this happening to them.

Her musings were interrupted when Swift Horse stood up, the shaman now walking away from him and past those who still sat. She gazed admirably at Swift Horse, again taken by his handsome appearance and his noble bearing.

In fringed buckskins and wearing a lone feather hanging from a lock of his long, raven-black hair, he stood tall over his people. With a straight back and lifted chin, he began talking to them about how the hunt had now been blessed and that the warriors would have a successful hunt for the white-tailed deer.

She caught him more than once look her way, then quickly look away again. When his eyes would touch her, it seemed as though he were trying to say something solely to her with them, and a sweet, strange tingle of sorts traveled along her flesh. She even blushed this last time he looked her way, smiling at him just before he looked into his crowd of people again.

Marsha realized that several of the women had noticed his attention to her, because they would look over their shoulders at her moments after Swift Horse had singled Marsha out with his deep, midnight-dark eyes.

Marsha could not help but blush at this new sort of attention from both this powerful, handsome chief and also the women who realized that their chief was surely infatuated with a woman of white skin, just the same as his sister felt for a man of the same skin color. But with no one voicing a negative opinion about Soft Wind planning to marry a white man, surely they would not say anything about a mere glance or two that their chief made toward the white man’s sister.

“This council is now over,” Swift Horse announced. “My brothers, the hunt will be good. There will be much fresh meat for our families, and much meat to put away to eat during the longest, coldest days of winter, which are fast approaching us. Go home now to your families. Enjoy this time with them, for soon you will be gone from them for as long as it takes to bring a good amount of deer meat into our village.”

There were many grunts and nods of approval, and then everyone stood up. Some adults lingered and talked among others for a while as the children ran from them, laughing and squealing as they suddenly fell into a game of tag, or other games that Marsha saw as intriguing.

“Marsha, it’s time to go,” she heard her brother say, bringing her out of her reverie as she had found herself watching the children with a strange sort of longing that she had never felt before. All of her life she had loved children, but had never, even for a moment, thought of having her own. Now, as she watched the merriment all around her as the children laughed and played and ran and jumped, she did feel something inside her belly that she knew must be a longing to have a child of her own.

Suddenly her eyes went back to Swift Horse. A blush grew hot on her cheeks when she realized just where her thoughts had taken her, and then to whom.

“Marsha?” Edward James said as he reached down and gently took her by an elbow. “What on earth are you doing? What are you thinking so hard about? Come on. It’s time to go home. The hunt council is over.”

Marsha shook her head to clear her thoughts, then hurried to her feet and tried to avoid her brother’s questioning stare. She realized just how oddly she had been behaving. She hardly recognized herself.

She walked with Edward James from the crowd, but could not help but take one last look over her shoulder at Swift Horse. Something within her grew warm and mellow when she saw his eyes dart quickly to her, their eyes locking and holding until someone said something to their chief, which drew his eyes away.

“I’ve never seen you act so strangely,” Edward James said, gazing in wonder down at his sister, who was one head shorter than he. “Marsha, I saw you staring at Swift Horse. I’m sure others saw you, too. Are you infatuated with the man? Or is it just because he is a powerful chief ?”

“Oh, Edward, I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself,” Marsha said, hurrying into the back door of their cabin, then turning to her brother when he stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

“Did I, Edward?” she asked, searching his eyes. “I couldn’t help myself. I do find Swift Horse so fascinating.”

“You mean handsome, don’t you?” he said, chuckling as he went to the fireplace and lifted a log on the grate.

He brushed his hands on his pants and turned to Marsha. “I understand how you can be so caught up in wonder of that man,” he said thickly. “I have been around a lot of Indians, but none like Swift Horse. As you have been witness to more than once, he is many things good—noble, kind, caring, and charitable. You have to know by now that he nor any of his people are anything like those who murdered our parents.”

“Yes, I know, but . . .” Marsha said, feeling torn. She wanted to hate all redskins because of what had happened to her parents, yet she felt anything but hate for Swift Horse and his people, who had shown her nothing but kindness.

“Marsha, I have spoken with Swift Horse more than once about what happened to our parents and how it has affected you inside your heart,” Edward James said, gently taking her hands in his. “Sis, he said that now that our family will soon be a part of his, he will try to help find those who murdered our parents.”

“Truly?” Marsha said, her eyes wide with wonder. “He would do this?”

“Like I said, he is a kind man, and he hates all injustices, as you have witnessed by how he took in Abraham,” Edward said, lowering his hands to his sides. “You know I’m right when I tell you that you should hold no ill feelings toward these Creek people. They would never condone what happened to our parents.”

“Yes, I know,” Marsha murmured.