Swift Horse

“I do recall how sometimes, when we were very young braves who had only small bows to carry around with us, he would shoot tiny forest animals with his arrow when only moments before he and I had been playing with them,” Swift Horse said, his voice breaking. “It would always be when my back was turned and he would then say that it was an accident, knowing that I could not say otherwise.”

“Let’s go,” Marsha urged, taking Swift Horse by a hand. “Let’s put this behind us, for always. We have more important things to think about—like our marriage. Now that this is behind us, we can finally have our ceremony.” She smiled up at him. “Can we tomorrow?” she rushed out. “Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing to make you forget today?”

“I shall never forget today, nor that it was I who killed someone who has been a part of my life since I was but a small brave, even as far back as when we took our first steps together,” Swift Horse said.

He took his hands from hers, turned his back to One Eye, then nodded. “Yes, let us get this behind us,” he said. He turned to Marsha. “But I have one more thing to do, first.”

“That is?” Marsha asked, yet knew almost for certain what he was referring to.

“I must go and tell One Eye’s people about him, as well as take his body to them,” Swift Horse said, a shiver racing across his flesh to know that he must have those last moments with someone he had never truly known. He did have to take him home.

“Can’t someone else do it?” Marsha asked, searching his eyes.

“It is my responsibility,” Swift Horse said thickly.

He turned to his warriors. “Place him on his horse,” he said, nodding toward One Eye. “Accompany me to his village.”

“Abraham and I will take the women home,” Edward James said, smiling over at Abraham, who quickly nodded in agreement.

Swift Horse nodded, then he went to Marsha and took her hands in his. “Tomorrow is ours,” he said, bending and brushing a kiss across her brow.

She gazed adoringly into his eyes. “Yes, ours . . .” she murmured, then watched him leave with One Eye’s body, stifling a sob behind her hand.

“We’ve a wedding to get ready for,” Edward James said, trying to lighten everyone’s mood. “Come on, little sister, we’ve much to do.”

“I’ll stay with the women to keep them safe,” Abraham said as the women gathered around him.

Marsha gave Abraham a smile, then saddled her steed as Edward James placed Soft Wind on his horse, her basket of roots being carried by one of the women.

Chapter 35

My perfect wife . . .

Oh heart, my own, oh eyes, mine too....

—Robert Browning

Several years later

It was a warm day of spring, when new sprouts were appearing on the trees, and flowers were just pushing their way through the earth that had been watered most of the winter by snow.

Robins warbled in the trees near the Creek village. At the nearby river, and even in the creeks that dissected the land near the Creek village, an occasional eager fish leaped from the water, seemingly glad that the ice was no longer there to hinder its movements.

The sun was brilliant overhead in a blue sky, where only occasional puffs of white clouds scudded past.

Marsha had learned that the “chunkey yard” was an integral part of the Creek village. The yard where the game was played was continually swept clean and was often surrounded by banks of earth from the repeated sweeping.

“Come on, son!” Marsha shouted as she sat beside her husband amidst

their Wind Clan, cheering on their ten-year-old son Moon Thunder as he played chunkey with friends of his same age. “Come on, Moon Thunder! You can win.”

She heard a chuckle beside her and turned to find Swift Horse watching her, having always admired her enthusiasm for games his people played—especially if her husband or son, or even her nephew, were among those who were competing.

“Am I too loud again?” Marsha asked, blushing when she looked over her shoulder to see if her cheers had brought attention of others away from the game and to her.

“No, my wife, you are not too loud,” Swift Horse said, sliding an arm around her waist and drawing her up next to him. “It is good to see you so proud of our son.”

“I’m as proud of our daughter,” Marsha said. Soft Wind was babysitting the children today. Marsha’s niece Sweet Butterfly would spend the afternoon playing dolls with her daughter Pretty Sky.