Wild Ecstasy (8 page)

Nee-kah pondered over the decision a moment longer, then smiled at Mariah. “All right,” she murmured. “I see no harm in it. You are a most sincerely sweet and caring person for wanting to do this. You are not what I would have thought white people would be like. You are filled with much love and compassion.”

Mariah's heart began thudding wildly. “Then you are saying that I can go to Echohawk?” she said, trying to hide the anxiousness in her voice. “That I can sit with him and offer him assistance?”

“When he discovers it is you offering this assistance, he will be honored,” Nee-kah said, discounting for the moment the hate that he was feeling for the white people who had recently caused him so much heartache. Mariah was different. He would soon see that also, once his fever was cured and his senses were returned to normal.

Nee-kah placed a blanket around Mariah's shoulders, its background like new-laid snow, interwoven with symbols in the scarlet and russet and gold of autumn leaves, and the blue of summer skies. “No-din, wear this, a gift from Nee-kah, to keep you warm on these cooler nights of autumn,” she said softly.

Mariah thrilled inside at the thought of having found such a friend, and also loving the way Nee-kah had called her No-din, her newly appointed Chippewa name. She stroked the blanket, feeling its utter softness, then eased into Nee-kah's embrace. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I love it. Oh, how I love it.”

Nee-kah walked Mariah through the village until they came to the small dwelling that once had been hers before she married Chief Silver Wing. In it now lay an ailing chief—the beloved Echohawk.

Mariah stiffened when she heard some sort of chanting coming from inside the wigwam. She looked quickly over to Nee-kah, questioning her with her eyes.

“That is a Mide priest, one of our people's shamans of the grand medicine society, the Mide-wi-win, that you are hearing,” Nee-kah said matter-of-factly. “He comes now and then to work his cures over Echohawk. Come. Let us go inside. You can watch.”

Mariah's knees were weak at the thought of seeing Echohawk again, having never forgotten their eye contact during the surprise ambush. Should he recognize her, so much would be lost to her.

Shakily she followed Nee-kah into the wigwam.

Chapter 8

—Blake

 

 

 

Upon entering Echohawk's wigwam, Mariah scarcely breathed. The room was dim, the fire's glow and the faint light drifting down from the smoke hole in the ceiling giving off only enough light for her to see a man standing over Echohawk, who lay on a sleeping platform in the deep shadows along, one wall, furs spread over him, up to his chin.

From this distance Mariah could not see Echohawk's face, but seeing how still he lay proved that her father had inflicted upon him a terrible injury.

Guilt spread through her like wildfire when she thought of that very instant she had seen her father bring the butt of his rifle across Echohawk's skull. She ached inside to know how this injury had affected him.

He was partially blind—and he just might die!

Oh, but she wished from the bottom of her heart that she would be given a chance to make things up to him.

To see him full of life again.

To see the sparkle of his fathomless dark eyes....

“Come,” Nee-kah whispered, drawing Mariah from her troubled thoughts. Nee-kah tugged on her hand. “Let us sit down. We do not want to disturb the Mide priest's healing ritual.”

Mariah smiled weakly and nodded. She followed Nee-kah's lead and sat down on a soft mat in the far shadows, away from the Mide priest. She straightened her back and folded her legs beneath her as she leaned forward, wanting to see Echohawk's face, yet still faint to her because of the damnable darkness of the wigwam.

She could not relax. The Mide priest's appearance was frightening. On his forehead were two black lines that started at his eyes, and similar lines were painted by his ears. His hands, too, had been painted with dark lines.

“The lines by the priest's eyes show that he can see the future,” Nee-kah whispered. “And the ones by his ears are because he can tell what is happening even at a distance. His touch can bring healing or death. That is why there are marks on his hands.”

His breechclout was of white buckskin, decorated with designs of porcupine quills and both copper and silver beads. And he wore a thong with a white seashell around his neck.

Seeing the direction of Mariah's gaze, Nee-kah explained, “That shell is called a
megis
. It is a symbol of the Mide's power.”

Folding her hands on her lap, Mariah watched attentively as the priest sat down beside Echohawk's platform. When he picked up his drum and began to sing a high-pitched chant, his rawhide-covered drum thumping out the beat as he sang, the thump-thump of the drum unnerved Mariah even more.

To her, it seemed to carry with it the sound of doom.

As though Nee-kah had read Mariah's thoughts, she leaned over and whispered into Mariah's ear. “The deep throb of the water drum the Mide priest is playing represents the heartbeat of the creator, the Great Spirit,” she explained. She lifted her nose into the air and sniffed. “And, No-din, do you smell the sweetness? Cedar boughs are burning in the lodge to purify the air.”

Again Mariah smiled weakly, too soon realizing the complexities of the Chippewa's beliefs. She wondered if it was wise at all to try to fit into the culture, even if only for a while, in an attempt to make up to Echohawk and his people the wrongs she and her father had done them. Her efforts might be looked on as too foreign—as trivial, and wrong.

Yet she must not let anything dissuade her. She must do it for Echohawk.

Nee-kah leaned even more closely to Mariah. “Do you see the eagle feather in the Mide priest's beaver hat?” she whispered. “That is another sign of his magic power. Do you see the pouch at his belt? It contains many totems that are used for healing the sick. He keeps with him bits of rattlesnake and bear claws, feathers from certain birds, tobacco and elk's teeth. Now, watch as he performs his magic.”

The priest began to chant as he bent over Echohawk. With great care he took several objects from his pouch and arranged them on Echohawk's chest. Then he shook his rattle over his patient and sang again.

The Mide priest droned song upon song. Mariah swallowed hard as she continued to watch, becoming fearful that perhaps what she saw as witchcraft hocus-pocus might do Echohawk more harm than good. What Echohawk needed was real medicine, not strange songs sung over him and strange shells placed atop him.

She wanted to get up and speak her piece about how she felt, yet she knew to do so would be to condemn herself in the eyes of not only her friend, Nee-kah, but also the whole village. She was here because of their tolerance. She did not have the right to interfere in their beliefs, no matter how strange they seemed to her.

She stretched her neck to see what the priest was now about to do. He had gotten a cloth bundle from behind him and was unwrapping it. Her eyes widened as he took out a tail feather from an eagle, yet she saw that something still remained covered in the cloth.

Exhaling a nervous breath, she made herself relax as she continued to observe the curing ritual.

The Mide priest took the feather in his right hand and smoothed out its edges with his left. Settling himself on his haunches beside Echohawk, he leaned forward and wedged the feather in an upright position in the furs that were spread over Echohawk. After placing the feather there, he picked up his drum again and began another song.

Mariah got caught up in the melancholia of this song, finding it beautiful—even mystical. She closed her eyes and let herself get carried away, as though on soft downy clouds above the earth. She experienced many things while in this semitrance state. She could hear so many things—the sighing of the wind as it blows through the tall pines; the soothing sound of waves lapping against the stones on the beach; and the fading noise of an animal crashing its way through the brush.

The song suddenly rose to a high vibrato, wrenching Mariah out of her reverie. Her eyes blinked nervously and her heart pounded, wondering about this moment of strangeness that she had just experienced. It made her fear the priest even more. He did seem to have powers that she had only moments ago scoffed at.

She flinched with alarm when the last drumbeat sounded and the feather jumped from atop Echohawk and fluttered to the floor as though it had a life of its own.

Confessing to herself that she was spellbound by the priest's performance, Mariah watched almost anxiously as he unwrapped the remainder of the cloth bundle.

Now he held two wooden figures in his hand. One apparently represented a male, the other a female. They were carved out of white ash and had movable heads and arms, and were attached to the bodies in a manner not discernible to her.

The medicine man then smoothed out a square of white cloth on the mat-covered floor and laid the figures on their backs on one half of the cloth, and carefully folded the other half over them so that they were completely covered.

Once again taking up his drum, he sang another song. It consisted of many repetitions of the sound “ho-ho” in a rather deep and guttural tone. As he sang, he closed his eyes and seemed unaware of anything around him. Sweat formed on his brow.

Craning her neck to take a better look, Mariah was startled to see movement under the cloth. The heads seemed to be turning back and forth, and the arms were moving up and down. She did not know if they were actually moving or if she was the victim of some sort of illusion.

Nee-kah leaned over and took her hand. “Do not fear this that you see,” she reassured softly. “The spirits have given the Mide the powers to do these feats of magic. But he is exhausted now. He will go to his medicine lodge and rest.”

Mariah watched almost breathlessly as he picked up his paraphernalia and was gone, leaving the wigwam strangely quiet.

“Let us now go to Echohawk,” Nee-kah said, yanking on Mariah's hand.

Mariah needed no further encouragement. She was anxious to see how Echohawk had fared during the performance that had mystified, even frightened her. Never had she seen anything like it, and deep within her heart she hoped never to see it again. It seemed to defy all teachings of the Bible that she had absorbed on those long winter nights before her mother had died. She could even now hear the soft, sweet voice of her mother as she had read the verses, explaining the meaning of those that seemed too difficult for a child of four and five.

Her heart thumping wildy, Mariah went with Nee-kah to Echohawk's side. She had expected him to be asleep, for he had lain so quietly while the medicine man performed over him.

But his eyes were open. His gaze seemed to be burning into her flesh as she knelt beside him, Nee-kah no longer there, instead at the far shadows, picking up some buckskin pouches from the floor.

Mariah breathed anxiously, afraid that at any moment Echohawk would speak accusing, angry words at her. For it did seem as though he was looking not only at her face but also deep into her soul, where her secrets were hidden—secrets that would condemn her in his eyes.

“Nee-kah?” Echohawk said, his voice revealing his weakness. “You have come again to sit at my side? Did you witness, also, the beauty in the Mide's performance today?”

Realizing that Echohawk did not know her, Mariah sighed with relief, and her heart jumped with a sudden joy, knowing that her plan would be easily carried out under these conditions.

Yet again she was plagued by remorse, seeing firsthand how her father's blow to Echohawk's head had affected him. She wondered if he would ever see again.

And his face was so pale. He was so ravaged by fever.

She reached a hand to Echohawk's brow and touched it soothingly. “No, I am not Nee-kah,” she said softly, seeing a quick, wary puzzlement cross his face.

“It is No-din,” Nee-kah quickly interjected as she came to kneel beside Mariah. “She has come to assist me. She will sit at your side and look after you while I give myself and my unborn child much-needed rest.”

Echohawk squinted his eyes, so badly wanting to see this sweet-voiced woman at Nee-kah's side, yet still unable to make out anything but movement and shadow.

He again cursed the white man for having impaired his sight.

“I do not know a No-din,” Echohawk said, finding it hard to stay awake, the fever having sapped all of his energy. But at least for the moment he had regained a portion of his senses and could talk as someone not crazed. He had surely worried Nee-kah as he had rambled on in his delerium, saying what, he did not even know himself!

Mariah stiffened and drew her hand from his brow, looking cautiously over at Nee-kah, wondering how she would explain to Echohawk just how she happened to be there, offering her services, when, in truth, she was not of Chippewa descent at all.

“She is not of our band of Chippewa, or yours,” Nee-kah explained softly, sinking a cloth into a basin of water, handing it to Mariah. She nodded silently toward Echohawk, Mariah soon catching the meaning. She took the cloth and smoothed it gently across Echohawk's hot brow.

“Then from which band is she?” Echohawk said, sighing as he enjoyed the cool cloth on his brow. “Why is she giving of herself to make me more comfortable?”

“She is not Chippewa at all,” Nee-kah said, her voice thin, unsure of his reaction when he discovered that Mariah was white.

But he seemed to be drifting off even as he had spoken, so that even if she took the time to tell him the full truth of Mariah, and how she happened to be there, he would not recall it the next time he awakened.

“Do not worry yourself over who she is,” Nee-kah murmured, leaning close to Echohawk's ear as his eyes fluttered closed. “Just accept her kindness, Echohawk. She is special, Echohawk. And soon, when you are better, you will see for yourself just how special she is.”

Mariah bit her lower lip, wishing that Nee-kah wouldn't make over her so much, when, if the truth were known to this sweet Chippewa maiden, Mariah would be hated.

Perhaps even put to death!

“He is asleep again,” Nee-kah whispered. “He no longer feels the cool softness of the cloth. Let me take this time while he sleeps to show you the medicines used to make him better.”

Mariah sat down beside Nee-kah and listened, yet her heart was elsewhere. This close to Echohawk, so that she had been witness again to his handsome face, many things had stirred within Mariah that had felt deliciously strange.

As before, it had been an instant attraction, one that unnerved her.

And it was futile, this attraction to a man who would one day loathe the sight of her. Once he regained his sight and could see who this No-din really was . . . Oh, but how
would
he react?

Chills rode Mariah's spine as she envisioned that moment of eye contact, when truths were revealed. She could almost feel his powerful hands on her throat, squeezing the life from inside her!

“No-din?” Nee-kah said, looking questioningly at Mariah. She placed a hand to her brow. “Your brow is cold with perspiration. Do you regret being here? Would you rather leave? Although I do not wish to, I would tell my husband that you would prefer going on to Fort Snelling. Would that make you more comfortable, No-din?”

A quick panic seized Mariah. She couldn't leave Echohawk now, no matter what the outcome would be in the end.

Hopefully, after he saw her devotion to him, he might be able to forget the ugly past—including her part in the ambush.

“No, I do not wish to go on to Fort Snelling,” she said in a rush of words. “But please be patient with me, Nee-kah. All of this is new to me. I've never been in an Indian village before, much less participated in its daily functions. I will be all right. I promise you.” She glanced over her shoulder at Echohawk, a warmth swirling through her so wonderful when her gaze rested on his face, she knew that she would chance anything to be with him.