Indian Captive (27 page)

“Now must I mourn the loss of my pale-faced son,” sobbed Earth Woman, “as once I mourned my own flesh and blood.”

“But have not the men taken action?” demanded Red Bird.

Earth Woman’s head sunk low on her breast. “They have been searching for him ever since they learned the canoe was gone. They did not tell me they knew he was missing and had gone to bring him back. They will bring him back to recapture and punishment. Oh, why could they not let him go free?”

“Go free?” snorted Squirrel Woman. “You would not have your son returned to you then?”

“I would let him go free,” said Earth Woman, in a low voice, “rather than see him suffer. I would let him return to the pale-faces. If they had asked me, I would have said, ‘Let him go. Do not bring him back to me!’”

“But he is now a full-blooded Seneca!” cried Squirrel Woman. “He has been adopted into our tribe. He cannot go.

“Hush! Hold thy tongue, daughter,” cried Red Bird. “Can you not see how much she loves him? Can you not see that his suffering would kill his mother?”

“But what can we do?” cried Molly. “What can we do to help him?”

“Help him?” A man’s voice spoke. A man had entered the lodge and heard what the women were saying. The man was Old Shagbark.

“Should, then, Running Deer be helped? We gave him more freedom than any captive ever had before. A man who breaks a trust should not be helped but punished. The rules of the tribe must be obeyed.”

Shagbark’s voice sounded like that of some other person—like that of a cruel, relentless man. Molly saw in his eyes how keen his disappointment had been.

“But, oh, what can we do?” she cried again.

No one answered. All the Indians looked at her with disapproval in their eyes. Shining Star stared coldly, and so did Turkey Feather and even Beaver Girl—all the Indians she had looked upon as friends.

Seeing they were all against her, Molly quickly left the lodge. If Josiah had run away, there was nothing for her to do but follow.

Outside the door, she almost bumped into Gray Wolf. “Where are you off to, little Pale-Face?” he called, drunkenly. “Running away again?” But Molly ducked out of his path and did not answer.

She ran through the corn-field and entered the forest. The little white dog ran at her heels, but she stopped long enough to scold and send him back. She remembered the route Josiah had said he would take. If she followed the River Genesee to the southward she could cross in a shallow place and branch off east toward the Susquehanna. The Susquehanna, Josiah had told her, would take her nearest to Marsh Creek Hollow.

She followed the trail along the river bank, passing the lower and middle falls. She came to the high cliff overlooking the upper falls, but she did not stop. The roar of the great Falling Waters grew fainter in her ears and then died away altogether, as up and down over the rugged hills she made her way. She looked behind once or twice, but saw no one coming—not even devoted Beaver Girl—to bring her back. They were thinking only of Running Deer at the village. They had no thoughts of her.

The trail grew more wild and tangled. Impatiently, she pushed her way through. Suddenly, on a running blackberry vine, she tripped and fell, twisting her ankle. Then she knew she could never go. She had tried it before. It was hard enough to go through the wilderness traveling with the Indians. It would be impossible alone, without food of any kind, without a tool or a weapon. The forest was hateful. She had always known it. She could never, never go.

She heard the crackling of branches and looked up. Was it Gray Wolf come to fetch her back again? No—the little white dog came bounding toward her, barking with delight. He ran to her lap and she held him close. She was not forgotten, after all. The little dog whined in sympathy as she cried, broken-hearted.

Then like a flash, a happy thought seized her. She was glad that Josiah had gone. She would only have been a heavy burden for him to carry. She was glad he had not waited for her.

As she sat on the ground, nursing her lame foot, she looked up and saw that the sun was shining brightly. The trees were budding and the birds were singing. It was really spring. It was the spring that she and Josiah had waited for so long. A feeling of relief and happiness spread over her. Spring had come and brought Josiah his chance to go, and even though he had been obliged to leave her behind, she was glad. She had meant it when she told him if he had a chance to go, he should take it. He would travel faster and with less risk alone. He would reach his home and family, and be happy again. He would not have to live a caged life with the Indians, caught in a trap like an animal. Whatever happened to her, she would always be glad she had let him go.

Then she knew he was beyond the fear of capture. With an undoubting assurance, she knew that he was safe. He could conceal his trail as well as any Indian, he would run no risks. If the Indians had not found him in three days, it meant he was out of danger and well on his way down the River Susquehanna. Molly knew he was safe. Then her eyes filled with tears, for she knew with equal surety that she would never see him again.

Slowly she rose to her feet. She broke a branch off a dead tree and, using it for a cane, made her way painfully back along the trail, while the little dog scampered joyously ahead. She came to the cliff overlooking the upper falls, to the very spot where she had stood that first November day and looked upon her double rainbow. It was spring now and the scene was changed, but still the same. The Falling Waters spoke to her in welcome, and again the tender beauty of the place brought solace to her aching heart.

On the edge of the cliff she sank down to rest. There she thought of Earth Woman, who loved Running Deer like a son. Why should the Great Spirit give her a son, only to take him away so soon? It seemed so needlessly cruel.

Molly remembered Squirrel Woman’s threatening words—if a captive were returned, it meant all the torture of recapture and fresh punishment. Earth Woman had been willing to let him go free, to let him go back to the pale-faces, rather than see him suffer. By giving him up, Earth Woman showed how great was her love.

Molly made her way back slowly toward the Indian woman’s lodge in the village. Putting aside her own sorrow in her loss of friend and companion, she thought tenderly of Earth Woman and wondered how she could comfort her. She came to the lodge. Black smoke was rising from the hole in the roof. The broom had fallen to the ground beside the door and the bark slab stood at one side, showing that the owner had returned.

Molly lifted the deerskin flap and put her lame foot over the threshold. Then she stepped inside and let the flap fall. The change from bright sunshine to the darkness of the interior blinded her for a moment. She stood still, then, hearing no sounds of grief or pain, wondered if the lodge was empty after all.

At length she saw Earth Woman sitting on Running Deer’s bed. On the wall behind hung his clothing, and the weapons she had given him. Several pouches, belts and other possessions lay undisturbed, just as he had left them—as if he might return at any moment. On the woman’s lap lay the small boy’s bow and arrows which Running Deer had used to bring meat to his Indian mother’s lodge. The woman’s eyes were dry, but she grasped the bow and arrows so tightly, her knuckles showed white beneath the skin. Limping, Molly ran to her arms.

Before any words were spoken, the flap was raised to admit a shining ray of light and Old Shagbark entered. He stared a moment at the blazing fire, then he saw the two figures on the couch and walked over to them.

“He is safe!” he said, in a low voice. “The Great Spirit has led him to safety.”

“I knew it,” said Molly. “I knew they could never find him.”

“Good!” said the Indian woman, softly.

“I knew you would both be willing to lose him, if he could get away safely,” said Shagbark. “You are not sorry he has gone?”

“Oh, no!” answered Molly.

“I am not sorry,” said Earth Woman.

“Then you were not angry at him because he broke his trust?” asked Molly.

“No,” said Shagbark, “for I understood. I speak words now which you must bury deep within your heart forever. I gave him the canoe so that he might go away. There was only one thing to do and one way to do it, and I take the responsibility. I saw from the first that we could never keep him. As time passed, I knew we must let him go. So I made it as easy for him as I could.”

“He is free again!” said Earth Woman. A smile broke across her grief-stricken face, the smile of willing sacrifice.

At that moment, Molly saw a bear cub, big, fat and roly-poly, go lumbering through the forest—a bear cub with no rope about its neck. She saw, too, a young deer—a buck with antlers like a growing tree upon its head—go crashing through the bushes. A bear cub, a deer, running with the fleetness of perfect freedom, and with them somehow, in her mind, she saw Josiah running free.

“Oh, Shagbark!” she cried. “My heart overflows with gratitude. You knew how miserable and unhappy he was. You helped him to get away. You are all kindness and goodness. Do you think Running Deer knew, too?”

“He knew!” said Shagbark.

T
HE DAYS PASSED SLOWLY
after Josiah went away. The sun seemed to have lost its brilliance; the sky was no longer blue.

At planting-time, Molly knew that she had been with the Indians for a year. Once more she saw round, pale yellow grains of seed-corn fall from her hand to the rich, black soil. Once more she watched slim, grassy blades poke upward and grow taller, ever taller. Once more she hoed, pulled weeds, and waved her blanket from the platform shelter to frighten crows away.

One day she walked in the green shadows between the tall stalks pressing the ears gently with her hand.

“The green corn will soon be ripe for boiling,” she said to herself. She pulled an ear off and tucked it under her arm.

Leaving the corn-field, she returned by way of Earth Woman’s lodge. On the ground beside the bark building, a smoldering fire was burning. A group of clay pots had been placed upside down in a pile and covered with dry cedar wood, cedar bark and other fuel. Earth Woman had stacked them carefully so that the heat might circulate freely and affect all parts alike.

“I brought you an ear of ripe corn,” called Molly.

Earth Woman came out of her lodge with a long stick in her hand. Molly stripped the ear down and handed it to her. The Indian woman put the corn to her mouth and began to munch it, while she poked at the fire with her stick.

“Are they done at last?” asked Molly.

“A good thing is never made in a hurry,” said Earth Woman, solemnly. With her stick she uncovered the pots, pushing the smoldering logs aside.

“Oh, they are beautiful! Beaver Girl’s pots are beautiful!” exclaimed Molly. “I must run and call her to come and see. And mine! My pot is the most beautiful of all, is it not?”

“A girl’s first pot is always the most beautiful in the world,” said Earth Woman, softly. “Pride in one’s work is never harmful.”

“May I take it to Red Bird at once?” asked Molly, eagerly.

“Yes, if you wish to burn your fingers to the bone!” replied Earth Woman, laughing. “The pots are very hot. They will not be cooled before the sun has run its course.”

“Everything takes so long,” sighed Molly. “It took so long till I grew strong enough to pound and beat the clay. It took longer still to shape the coils evenly into a pot. So many small crooked ones I had to throw away before I could shape a large one. And now that it is shaped, it takes so long to fire and harden it.”

“A good thing is never made in a hurry,” said Earth Woman again. “When you have learned to work as slowly and thoroughly as an Indian woman, you may well be proud.”

Molly ran to Beaver Girl’s lodge and brought her back with her. In the late afternoon, while the Indian children and some of the women looked on, Earth Woman took the pots out of the cold ashes. Exclamations of delight greeted Beaver Girl’s pots, then the crowd waited impatiently, for it was Corn Tassel’s pot they most wanted to see.

It came out last. Earth Woman brushed the ashes off with care and held it up high. The pot was round and full at the bottom, with a narrow, graceful neck. It had a turned-over collar at the top, which was scalloped along the edge. The crowd waited in silence. Not a word was said.