Wild Rapture

Nee-kah’s lips parted to talk some more, but she giggled when one of the young boys accompanying their mothers on the outing sneaked up behind her and hit the underside of the basket she was carrying, dumping the roots she had gathered, then went to Mariah and did the same.

“Why, he’s a little scalawag, isn’t he?” Mariah said, giggling as she looked down at her spilled roots, then at the lad as he scampered away, soon spilling another woman’s basket.

Nee-kah turned to Mariah, eyeing her questioningly. “Scalawag?” she said, an eyebrow forked. “I know many words of your language, but never have I heard that strange-sounding word before.”

Mariah knelt to the ground and began scooping up roots, placing them back in her basket. “It has the same meaning as ‘rascal,’ which suggests mischievousness. I would say that little brave is one of the most mischievous boys I have ever seen.” She glanced over at the boy, whose mother had just caught up with him, scolding him. “A scalawag,” she murmured, laughing softly. “But cute.”

She helped Nee-kah gather her spilled roots, then her smile faded and she rose slowly back to her feet, stunned to see how the small brave was being reprimanded. His mother had placed him in a basket cradle, tied him into it, then stuck the point of the frame into the ground.

“The poor child,” Mariah gasped, paling.

“He will not dump any more baskets,” Nee-kah said, shrugging. “We can now finish gathering our roots beneath the trees without further annoyances from the . . .” She gazed over at Mariah, screwing her face up into a curious look. “What was the word, No-din, that you used to describe his behavior?”

Mariah gazed a moment longer at the child, who was crying fitfully, then over to Nee-kah, knowing that this was just another custom that she would learn to accept. “Scalawag,” she said, pronouncing the word slowly.

Nee-kah placed her hand on her abdomen. “I must be sure that my son or daughter is not a scalawag,” she

said, giggling.

“I’m sure mine will be,” Mariah said, laughing softly. “I would play with and torment a child with my own mischievous ways. The poor child would not be able ever to have a solemn moment.”

Mariah’s laughter faded, her thoughts catapulted back to Echohawk. Loving him so much, and missing him terribly, she allowed herself to wonder how it might be to have his children, should she ever be given the chance. His handsomeness would surely transfer into any child borne of him.

A son.

Ah, a son with a copper skin and eyes of midnight would be such a wonder, such a joy, to experience!

And a daughter. How beautiful a daughter by him would be!

She glanced over at Nee-kah, seeing her utter loveliness. It would be wonderful to have a daughter that looked exactly like her and had the same generous, sweet personality. . . .

She was brought back to reality when out of nowhere a lone buffalo wandered into the area, way too close to the child. The boy’s eyes caught sight of it, elevating his crying to something piercing, fright evident in the child’s huge dark eyes.

“Gah-ween, no!” the mother screamed, dropping her basket to the ground, rushing toward her son as the buffalo began wandering even closer to the screaming child.

Mariah watched with horror, stifling a scream when the buffalo bent low over the boy, eye to eye, nose to nose.

The boy’s mother kept running, waving her arms and screaming at the bull. Then she stopped and gasped, horrified as the bull suddenly thrust out its massive tongue and licked the boy’s face.

Mariah leapt up and ran toward the boy, then stopped, dismayed when the buffalo sauntered away, soon out of sight.

Her shoulders relaxed and she inhaled a nervous breath when the mother released the child from his prison, holding him in her arms, hugging him tightly.

“Nee-kah has never seen such a sight,” Nee-kah said, stepping up to Mariah’s side. “I thought the boy would be killed. The Great Spirit must have touched the buffalo’s heart, making him love the Chippewa, instead of hate. The Great Spirit will now also look over the buffalo and allow no arrows or bullets to pierce its flesh.”

The sound of gunfire carrying on the wind made Mariah’s heart skip a beat. She glanced quickly in the direction of the sound, hearing another gunshot, and realized that, unaware, she had found the place where Echohawk had chosen to do his target practicing.

“Mah-szhon, go to him,” Nee-kah said, placing a gentle hand on Mariah’s arm. “I know that it has been hard not to.”

“Would you really not mind?” Mariah said anxiously, looking down at her basket of roots, then back up at Nee-kah. “Have I gathered enough roots? I want to play a beneficial role in your village. I do not want to just take, and not give.”

“You have given of yourself in many ways,” Nee-kah said, smiling softly at Mariah. “It is my people who still owe you so much.”

Mariah’s eyes wavered and she looked away from Nee-kah, guilt awash throughout her again as she recalled the bloody massacre and her part in it. She feared the day that Nee-kah and her people would discover the truth. They would then regret all of the praise they had bestowed upon her.

But this was now. Echohawk was near. And even though he had forbidden her to accompany him, she could not stay away now that she was so close.

Nee-kah took Mariah’s basket. “Go,” she said, nodding toward the repeated gunfire. “If you do not feel comfortable letting him realize you are there, at least watch Echohawk and see how he fares today with his practicing.” She frowned, sadness heavy in her eyes. “I so fear for him if he cannot find any accuracy with his weapons. He has always been a proud man. And he has the need to regain that pride.”