Wind Dancer (20 page)

The stars sparkled in their brilliance, confident in their name, against a thick, velvet backdrop of unending depths. The horizon met the night with hues of green, real and yet unreal in its facets of green, glowing beneath the moonlight. It was a magical night, and it called to her.

Isabelle rose from her bed of tangled blankets on the cool, damp earth. She sat up, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes, looking up and feeling life pump back into her. Finally she knew she had to abandon sleep and meet the night.

She had begged to be allowed to sleep outdoors earlier that evening. It was a fanciful request, the last request of a maiden the night before her wedding. Sunukkuhkau had backed her up and encouraged the privilege, as long as her sisters slept out with her. The other women lay silent and sleeping now, peaceful in the bliss of an unknown enchantment. Isabelle cast a glance at each of them, her gaze lingering over Sinchi, a true friend, making her smile.

Rising, she slipped into her moccasins, trying not to make any sound that might disrupt their sleep, and made her way into
the woods, heedless of danger, conscious only of her need to connect with the same God who had made these stars twinkle loud enough to wake her.

She progressed deeper into the trees, felt the thinner grass of the shady places against her ankles and calves, felt them transition into scrub and bramble and then the prickling of small sticks and weeds. She picked her way to the stream, always drawn to any body of water where the clear reflection of the moon danced across the tiny, windblown waves. Reaching the small stream, the place where they had first tried to wash away the white of her skin, she sank down onto the mud-hardened bank. She picked a long weed and bit into the stem, tasting its bitter sourness, twirling it slowly with her hand, holding it out, examining its leaves in the moonlight. Her lips curved into a contented smile as she drank in the still beauty of the glade. So peaceful, so silent, with the wind blowing gently through her long, loose hair. She closed her eyes and lifted her face, feeling everything, feeling at one with her piece of the world. Since her night of surrender to the Lord, she had known many moments of this overwhelming peace.

She realized with an inner jolt that even though she was still a captive on the outside, something had changed inside, and she was freer here than she'd ever been.

They too had noticed the change, not entirely trusting it or her but wanting to believe that she was beginning to accept her place with them. She didn't consider what they thought; she simply lived, one day at a time, and rested in the knowledge that she no longer had to carry herself, that she knew her survival.

In this newfound place of safety, she found herself thinking a lot instead of always trying to
do
something. She spent endless hours allowing her mind to wander into the past, pick through images as they appeared while she cooked or washed clothes or hunted for berries. When she slept, she slept soundly and
contentedly, but she found she needed little sleep these days. Her mind was filled with thoughts and her chest with feelings that she'd never before taken the time to explore. Behind her closed lids at night, she dreamed awake of all the things past and present. Often she saw her father's face, a young face, from when she was a little girl. She lingered over the image, allowing her memory to turn over his features. She smiled, the air whooshing out of her lungs as she realized how much she looked like him. Her dark coloring, her gypsy-slanted eyes and freewheeling heart—those traits had come from him. Other times she remembered him as she last saw him, now older, his face rounder, his hair a little grayer, but his eyes—his eyes still fascinated her. They still held the light of youth. He was still full of a life of chasing rainbows.

Isabelle closed her eyes now, a trickle of a tear seeping out and down her cheek and neck, making her cold where the breeze blew it dry. But it wasn't a sad cry; she was happy to remember her father.

Tonight her mind's eye roved the childlike curves of her brother's face. She saw Julian when he was little, laughing at some silly thing she had said. He had never taken her as seriously as she wished he would, but then he had seen her, seen
inside
her, something everyone else had missed. He had believed in her when she wasn't doing anything great or special or beautiful. He'd loved her at her least lovable.

Her chest heaved with a sob at the thought, the sound skipping over the water's edge, her face pressing into her upraised legs. If only she had known! She would have been kinder. She would have . . . loved him better. “Oh God,” she breathed into the still night air, “I miss him so.”

She thought back on their best times together, feeling in this moment the need to relive them in her mind. He had been so very
different from her, his every thought from some other place of reference, that she wondered how it was that they hadn't hated one another. But they hadn't. If anything, they had clung to each other, enjoying their differences. They were both passionate about what they loved in life. They had lived as children, she saw now, always in the here and now, trying to make whatever that elusive thing was that made them feel the most alive as real and as tangible as possible. With Julian it had been his music, his poetry. With her it had been … something to rid her of the restlessness.

Everything in her now stopped in revelation. There were many things that she loved—music, the feel of a heavy gun in her hands and knowledge that she had the ability to use it, time spent with her brother or her mother, those brief moments of connection with her father. And now Samuel, his face when he looked at her, his strength, his matching abilities and that feeling that, together, nothing could stop them.

But something
had
stopped them. She sensed that God wanted to show her more, something bigger than all those things, that if she only asked, He would show her.

“What is it?” she whispered into the dark sky. “What is it?”

The night breeze caressed her face. She could hear the pattering of the leaves as they rustled in the tree above her head. The breeze became a wind, then a strong wind, gusting around her, making her hair fly.

She found herself standing, rising to the challenge to stand against it. Her eyelids fell, and behind them she saw an image of herself dancing on that wind. She was floating upward, her hair twirling around her, colored ribbons in her hair swirling and twirling, covering and then revealing her face and her body. She saw herself becoming as one with the wind, not flying, for this wind didn't move in one direction. No, this wind danced. Leaves whirled about her in a counterclockwise motion, reversing the
flow of time, changing now from the dry death of winter to the brilliant hues of fall, then transforming into the strong, sure leaves of summer, going back, back, to the newborn leaves of spring. They danced as she danced, in all the seasons of her life.

Isabelle stood completely still, her eyes still closed as she watched the scene unfolding behind her eyes. “I am to worship You,” she breathed, her chest quivering, undone at the way He chose to show her this.

“Isabelle?”

Her eyes were still closed, her heart still in the grip of His presence.

“Isabelle!”

But this was a woman's voice calling her name, a voice she knew so well. She turned, startled, thinking she was seeing another vision.

But no. It was Hope, her mother, running toward her, with two men following close behind.

They ran to her while she just stood there, not believing her eyes. Adam, her mother's friend from Vincennes. Her gaze swung to the other man, knowing him before she saw him.

Samuel.

He had come back for her.

She began to sob, a sudden and deep response as her mother's arms wrapped around her.

“Thanks be to God,” Hope breathed, smoothing back Isabelle's wild hair from her face.

Samuel then took her deep into his arms and laughed. “Only you would make this so easy. How did you manage it?”

Isabelle looked about, suddenly afraid that the Shawnee would hear and they would all be discovered.

“The stars woke me,” she said with a sob and then a laugh. “I didn't know. I didn't think you would come back for me.”

Samuel laughed low in his chest. “Then Clark was right. You don't know me well enough yet. But I plan to remedy that, as soon as we can get away from here.”

They turned as one back toward Kaskaskia and freedom.

And so Isabelle simply walked away. Out of her slavery, her captivity, her restless running, and into the future of her glorious promised land.

They walked through the night, not saying much but not panicked either, the four of them feeling a sureness, a peace that they would not be pursued.

Years later Isabelle would hear that the Shawnee had all slept particularly long that morning, that when they rose and saw her gone, they had searched for tracks and found none, that her sleeping partners had not heard anything amiss. They had said that the night sky and the stars had been particularly bright that night and decided among themselves that Isabelle had been caught up, caught away by the God she worshipped, as He was jealous of their time with her and wanted her home. She was truly named, they felt. Something they could never imagine.

But she did not know that now, as dawn lit the sky and they came upon the Kaskaskia River. She only had a certain feeling that she would never see the Shawnee again.

Hope sat on the ground as the men went in search of the little canoe that the farmer owned. The farmer wasn't up and about yet, but they were determined to use one of his boats
for passage, Adam saying he would go later in the morning and paddle it back to him.

Isabelle sank down next to her mother and leaned on her shoulder. “You must be tired.”

Hope laughed. “Yes, tired but happy this moment.” She put her arm around Isabelle's shoulders and squeezed.

“How did you find me?”

“I knew something was wrong, back in Vincennes, so I asked Adam to bring me here. When I arrived, I went to the commander's office. George Rogers Clark. Vincennes has also pledged their allegiance to the Americans. This country is changing fast, Isabelle, and it's a good thing. A great thing is happening here. I can feel it.”

She took a deep breath and continued. “Clark wouldn't tell me anything. He would only say that there was a man I needed to meet. That scared me, I can tell you! But I never could have prepared myself for what I learned had happened to my children.” She paused, her throat working to control her emotions. “Clark took me to Samuel, and he explained how you had been taken captive by the Shawnee and all he was doing to try and free you.” She looked into Isabelle's face. “Did you know he wanted to sell his land? The land he will receive as payment for fighting in Clark's campaign? He was trying to raise money to buy you back.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I thought he had left me there.”

“He loves you.”

They were both silent a moment, leaning into each other's shoulders.

Hope took a shaky breath. “Then Samuel told me about Julian, how he died. I–I didn't know how I could go on, how to save you, but I kept thinking,
I still have one child living
. I wasn't going to let the Shawnee have you, so I convinced Adam and Samuel to go with me and demand you back. We had no weapons—well,
Samuel had a few, but we knew they wouldn't do us any good. And we didn't have any money to buy you or captives to trade you for.” She hugged Isabelle tight into her side, crying a little. “But we had prayer, and so we prayed, the three of us, the entire way, to get you back.” She let out a little sob. “He answered our plea. He must have known I couldn't have borne losing you both.”

Isabelle looked up into her mother's face, her voice low and choked. “I tried to save him. I did try.”

Hope shook her head. “This is not your fault, Isabelle. Don't ever believe otherwise.”

“But it is. We went on this journey to satisfy something in me.”

“Yes, but I let you both go.” In a lower tone, gazing off into the distance, she added, almost to herself, “Your father will blame me.” She turned back to Isabelle. “And the priest, we could blame him; it was his mission.”

“He was only trying to help. As were you. The two of you didn't know what to do with me anymore.”

“That is true. If you want to bear the burden of your brother's death, I cannot take it from you. It is something you must decide to lay down and walk away from, never looking back or taking it on your shoulders again. Don't believe the enemy's lies, Isabelle. He would destroy you, and I think,” she gazed at Isabelle's face, seeing so much change there, “that you have grown up since I saw you last. You are no longer that straining, unsatisfied girl.”

Isabelle's eyes widened, tears pricking again. “How do you know?”

“It is in everything about you now. You have made your peace with God, I think.”

Isabelle blinked, two big tears rolling down her face. “Yes.”

Hope squeezed her shoulders, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Then there is another thing to be thankful for this day.”

“But Julian …”

Hope pressed her lips together for a moment and took a bracing breath. Her voice was shaky but firm as she said, “Shall be greatly missed. Every day. But I will grieve him later, when time allows it and I can bring it to my Father's lap.” She took another deep breath and stood, brushing off her skirts. “Come, they have found a boat.”

The water was still as they crossed the river, the sun of a new day glinting off the surface. They returned to Kaskaskia silently, Samuel grasping Isabelle's hand.

* * *

AS WORD SPREAD of Isabelle's rescue and how they had simply walked away from the enemy, unscathed and untouched, the town began to turn out in spontaneous celebration. Food appeared as if from nowhere—ham, goose, stew with potatoes and cream, carrots smeared with butter, bowls of freshly picked peas, round and green, baked beans, and hot, fluffy yeast rolls with pie upon pie. Isabelle stuffed herself until, finally, Samuel had to laughingly help her from the table.

Then began the music and the dancing. Unlike the Shawnee drums that had taken hold of her in a strange and disturbing way, this was fiddle music, light and happy, the bow skipping over the strings in tandem with the trilling notes of a flute. Samuel pulled a harmonica from his pocket and joined in.

Isabelle laughed out loud.

“I didn't know you could play that.”

Samuel grinned around the instrument and nodded. “There is a lot you don't know about me, sweetheart.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” she challenged, her chin coming up, a smile in her eyes and on her lips.

He shrugged a shoulder. “Wait and see.” He smiled back, still playing. When the song ended, he shoved the harmonica into his pocket and took Isabelle's hand, leading her away from the crowd, over to a small stand of trees. They sat down on a spindly bench, looking out over the party, quiet together, enjoying the scene.

Isabelle saw her mother dancing with Adam and was startled by how happy she looked, her face fairly glowing as she looked up into Adam's face. Different emotions assailed her as Isabelle suddenly realized she'd only seen Hope as her mother and not as a woman. Hope giggled like a schoolgirl as Adam twirled her about. And Adam's face, as he laughed too, was filled with love.

What if the marriage she had watched from a little girl's view wasn't what she had thought? Her parents' relationship had seemed normal enough. But now it hit her like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face that, in fact, it was distant, forbearing. What if her mother should have married a different man?

* * *

“IS IT HARD?” Samuel asked.

Isabelle's head jerked in his direction. “Is what hard?”

Samuel nodded toward her mother and Adam.

“It's hard that I didn't know,” she said. “Maybe I could have done something. Helped somehow.”

Samuel shook his head. “My parents' marriage isn't very happy either. I grew up in Virginia, on a plantation. Holt Plantation.” Samuel paused to laugh. “My father wasn't very creative when he came up with that one. My mother, she harps on him all of the time, and my father escapes by going to Williamsburg or riding all day to oversee the land.”

Isabelle looked up into his eyes. “Is that why you left and joined the Americans?”

Samuel looked away. “One of the reasons, I guess.”

“What were the other reasons?”

Samuel shook his head, as if he didn't know the answer himself. “A young man feels a need to strike out on his own, I suppose. I wanted to prove myself … prove something to myself.”

Isabelle spoke her thoughts out loud. “They were rich, weren't they? Handing it to you without any effort of your own? Do you plan to return someday?”

“No, I don't think I will ever go back.”

“But why? Are you not your father's heir? Do you have brothers?”

Samuel shook his head. “I'm his only son. His eldest. I guess my sisters' husbands will run the place after he is gone.”

“You turned your back on all that? Your family must have been devastated.” She turned toward him. “Samuel, tell me about your life … before all this. Before Clark and his army.”

“There is nothing more to tell.” Samuel leaned back against the giant oak tree at his back and twirled a weed between his finger and thumb. He wondered why he didn't tell her about Sara. Why he couldn't voice any of it out loud. But he found he couldn't get it past the lump in his throat.

Instead he rose and grasped Isabelle's hand. “Come. We are missing the party. And I know how much you love to dance.”

Isabelle looked long into his eyes, trying to read something there. Suddenly her hand reached out and touched the cord around his neck. He allowed her to drag it from his shirt, hold the delicate silver crescent moon in her hand.

“Tell me what this is, first. It must mean something.”

Samuel looked down at the necklace, too delicate for a man to be wearing but a constant reminder of Sara. He remembered
when he had given it to her, the quiet joy on her face as she clasped it behind her neck. He had thought to bury it with her but at the last minute had decided to keep it instead. He'd worn it every day since, thinking of her and their daughter. She must be four years old now. Although he didn't know her, his chest sometimes ached with the feeling of missing her.

Would Sara have been proud if she could see him now? He would never know, but the feel of the metal against his skin made it seem possible.

“Just an old thing I picked up,” he said, trying to shrug off the probing. Isabelle would never understand his need of it.

She looked up into his eyes, her lips flattened, her eyes knowing that he wasn't telling the truth. “Can I have it? I think it's pretty.”

She was calling his bluff, and he didn't like it. He could either tell her that it meant something to him or hand it over. He reached for it, held its crescent form between his fingers.

“I guess I know how your father felt when you decided to leave,” Isabelle said softly, then turned away and walked back toward the party without him.

He just stood there, a part of him wanting to go after her and tell her about Sara, and a part of him not wanting to let go of it. Letting go might make room for something else to get in. And as much as he wanted Isabelle, as rare and glorious as he knew her to be, he didn't seem to have the strength to reach up and rip the leather cord from around his neck.