Swift Horse

She turned again toward those who were competing in the game, among them not only Swift Horse’s and Marsha’s son, but also Soft Wind and Edward James’s.

Edward James and Soft Wind had chosen to name one child with an Indian name, the other with one that was used in the white community—especially since their son had hardly any outward appearances of being part Creek. Everything about him was Edward James all over again!

Edward James knew of the prejudices of white people toward those whose skin was red, and he had big plans for his son Jimmy. He was going to see that he had the best schooling, and even now Jimmy attended school at the closest town, Paducah.

But it wasn’t only schooling that he planned for his son. He wanted him to have a college education. Jimmy had voiced his desire to be a lawyer—someone who could fight for the rights of the red man.

His goals were quite different from Moon Thunder’s. Once Moon Thunder had completed his education, he wanted to return to his people and teach those children whose parents would not allow them to attend school where whites attended.

Moon Thunder had looked past ridicule that some whites were guilty of during his time at school. He had a future to look toward and he would not allow anyone to get in his way!

Also, he knew that one day he would step into his father’s footsteps as chief of their Wind Clan. How better to become a great a leader than to get an education that would help him know how to stand up against white people who would try to take the freedom away from their Wind Clan of Creek? Moon Thunder had said that between him and Jimmy, with their knowledge of so many things, no one would ever get the best of their people!

“We have been blessed with a wonderful daughter and son, that is true,” Swift Horse said, nodding. “As I have been blessed with a wonderful wife.”

“Our life—” Marsha started to say, but when she heard her son let out a loud whooping sound, she turned quickly, just in time to see his spear land the closest to the place where the chunkey stone had stopped, meaning he was the victor this time.

The first time she had seen this game played, was when Swift Horse had played it with his warriors. She had watched intensely as the players rolled a stone disk and then attempted to estimate where the stone would stop rolling. The object was to see who could land his spear the closest to the place the chunkey stone had stopped, as Moon Thunder had just done.

Cheers rang into the air as all those who had been in competition with Moon Thunder circled around him, patting him on the back and congratulating him. And then just as quickly the competition began again.

“As you know, this can go on for many more hours,” Swift Horse said as he drew Marsha’s eyes back to him. “I do not believe our sons will miss us should we leave and take a walk along the river. I might even pluck you a bouquet for your kitchen table.”

“Now, how can I say no to such a proposition as that?” Marsha said, laughing softly.

When she and Swift Horse reached the river, they stopped and gazed across it, at how gentle it was today, and beautiful with the weeping willows hanging down over it in places, with their fresh growth of leaves on their swaying limbs.

“Everything is new and fresh,” Marsha murmured. She inhaled a deep breath of the midafternoon air. “I love spring.”

“Even though I will soon be gone for several days as I join my warriors on the hunt for the white-tailed deer?” Swift Horse said, turning her to face him. He gazed into her eyes. “I want to bring home much meat for my family, and pelts that can be made into beautiful clothes that you are now so skilled at making.”

“I love sewing, especially with beads,” Marsha murmured.

She glanced over her shoulder at her brother’s store, knowing that he was there even now, preparing his shelves for the arrival of fresh pelts. He always showed such enthusiasm this time of year, for his trading post was now known wide and far, a favorite of all who were based in Kentucky.

“Edward James is missing the game today,” she murmured. “But he has seen our sons participate enough times during the nontrading season.”

“And he has even participated a time or two,” Swift Horse said, chuckling. “It is good to compete with him in that way. He has become quite a chunkey player, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Marsha said, now walking hand-in-hand with Swift Horse beside the river, farther away from the village.

Suddenly a deer ran past, then came back and playfully nuzzled Marsha’s hand as she held it out for her.

“Abraham has to be more careful with Sandy now that hunting season is near,” she said, now stooping and hugging the beautiful, grown deer that seemed to believe it was human, not animal.

It was a pet, that was for sure, yet too large now to live in the cabin with Abraham. Abraham had built Sandy her own cabin behind his, where much straw had been placed for the deer to sleep upon, and for warmth.

“Sandy!” Abraham shouted as he came running toward Marsha and Swift Horse, his eyes on the deer. “Sandy, you’re getting too frisky for this ol’ black man.”

“Good morning, Abraham,” Marsha said, smiling at him as he came and stopped, the deer soon nuzzling his hand, then standing close beside him as Abraham petted her.

“Mornin’, ma’am,” Abraham said, still panting from having run so hard to catch up with his pet deer. He gazed over at Swift Horse. “Mornin’, Swift Horse,” he said, smiling broadly. “I saw your son win the game of chunkey twice now today.”

He looked past them as the game continued, then smiled at Marsha. “I saw your brother’s boy win, too,” he said. “Both boys are skilled at the game.” He bowed his head, then looked up again with sadness in his eyes. “I had a son once,” he said. “He would’ve been a good chunkey game player.”

“Yes, I’m sure he would have,” Marsha said, always feeling so deeply for this man and what he had gone through in his life. But since he had become a part of the Creek’s life, life had been good and loving for him.

“Abraham, you know the hunt begins soon,” Swift Horse said, gazing at the deer and then at Abraham. “Times like this, when Sandy gets away from you, can end in tragedy.”