Wild Rapture

Knowing the bond that had formed between Mariah and Nee-kah, the woman laid the child within Mariah’s arms, then nodded toward Nee-kah.

Mariah felt a strange sort of melting at the pit of her stomach when she peered down at the tiny copper face, dark eyes shaded by thick black lashes blinking back at her. “So lovely,” she whispered, then laid the child in Nee-kah’s arms. “Nee-kah, your son. He is so very, very lovely. And healthy. You have nothing to fear. He will grow up to be a great man.”

Nee-kah looked through tears at her son, then with one hand unfolded the blanket from around him. She gasped with delight. She smiled up at Mariah, then looked slowly around her at those who had ministered to her in her time of need.

“My son will be called Strong Branch until he has his special vision,” she said proudly. She looked adoringly back down at her child again, sighing. “Is he not a long, slim baby, as straight as a northern pine?”

“He is wonderful,” Mariah said, very gently touching the baby’s tiny arm, then smoothing her fingers over his even tinier fingers. “And soon he will have a friend to play with. As soon as I—”

“You are with child?” Nee-kah asked, wonder in her eyes and voice.

“Perhaps,” Mariah said, blushing bashfully. “I hope so.”

Their moment of joyous beginnings was drawn abruptly to a halt at the sound of many horses stopping outside the wigwam. All eyes were locked on the entrance flap when it suddenly was drawn back and Echohawk came in, carrying Silver Wing.

Mariah rose quickly to her feet, her knees weakening when she caught sight of the blood on Silver Wing’s clothes and the paleness of his face. And she also recognized the sound of death, for she would never forget hearing the death rattles only moments before her mother had died, and also Victor Temple’s.

An instant dizziness gripped Nee-kah when she caught sight of her beloved husband as Echohawk carried Silver Wing toward her.

“No!” Nee-kah cried, fighting to stay alert as the trauma of seeing her wounded husband sent her heart into a tailspin of despair. She clung to her baby and tried to rise to a sitting position, but her weakness would not allow it. “My husband!” she cried, reaching a hand out to Silver Wing. “No! Tell me you are not injured badly!”

“Nee-kah?” Silver Wing said, his voice barely audible.

Echohawk took Silver Wing to Nee-kah and placed him beside her on the sleeping platform, then stepped back and stood beside Mariah, circling a comforting arm around her waist.

“My wife, I have come back to you to say a final good-bye,” Silver Wing said, his failing eyesight not having even seen the child, nor that Nee-kah was on the sleeping platform. “Take my hand. Let me feel the softness of your skin one last time.”

Fighting back tears, Nee-kah turned to him as best she could, but it was not her hand that she placed in her husband’s hand.

It was the small hand of their son.

When Silver Wing became aware of the size of the hand, reaching his other hand to cover it, to feel the tiny fingers, tears began flooding his eyes. “The child,” he said, his voice breaking. “You . . . had . . . our child . . .”

“Ay-uh,” Nee-kah murmured, leaning to kiss her husband’s cold cheek. “And, my darling, it is a son. I have already named him. He is to be called Strong Branch. Can you not see? He is as straight as a northern pine!”

Silver Wing’s hand roamed over his son, a look of bliss entering his eyes as he felt all of his son’s features and his tiny body. When he found that part of him which told him that, ay-uh, he was a son, a deep rush of emotion filled him. “A son,” he said, smiling through tears at Nee-kah. “Ay-uh, a son. Strong Branch? That is a good name. It fits him well.”

Silver Wing felt a tightening in his lungs. “Take our son,” he said, fighting back the urge to cough. “And remember that I will always be with you, Nee-kah, even though I soon will enter the Land of the Hereafter.”

Nee-kah took Strong Branch back into her arms and wrapped him securely in the blanket, feeling as though a part of her was tearing away when Silver Wing turned his head from her and began coughing hard, blood now spewing from his mouth.

She sought deeply within herself for the courage to live through the next moments of her life, knowing that she would be saying a final good-bye to her dear, wonderful husband.

Oh, it was hard!

When he took his last breath, a part of her would be forever gone!

But she had to fight for the courage to want to live. She would live for their child. For Silver Wing, she must see that their son was raised to be a great leader, in his father’s footsteps.

Silver Wing turned to his people, who had come into the wigwam. “Elders of my village, come and stand around me and hear my farewell words—listen to my last ruling as chief,” he said, his voice almost failing him. When they were positioned, somber and sad as they gazed down upon him, he continued:

“My infant son shall rule upon my death,” Silver Wing said. “I took a young wife for the bearing of a son who would be chief. Strong Branch is to be chief. But until he is of age, you who are the elders of this village must see that both villages, Echohawk’s and ours, work together as one under the leadership of Chief Echohawk. If Echohawk will agree, he will become Strong Branch’s father, to teach him everything about life.”

Satisfied, Silver Wing closed his eyes and coughed again, exhausted from the long speech.

Echohawk was touched almost speechless. He knelt beside Silver Wing and took one of his hands into his, squeezing it affectionately, yet cringing when he felt its cold limpness. “I am here to do whatever you ask of me,” he said, his voice drawn. “You so humble me, Silver Wing.”

“Take my child,” Silver Wing said, wheezing, now unable even to open his eyes. “Hold him to your heart. Acquaint yourself with him. From today forth, Echohawk, he walks in your shadow, not mine. Your children will become his brothers and sisters. They will be as one family within their hearts and souls.” He coughed, and exhaled a quavering breath. “The same as it has been for you and me.”