Touched Page 20

  “It happened that Anola was promised in marriage to a young warrior of her tribe, a man she did not love, but as the daughter of the chief, she knew her duties. So it was that she was sent to the easternmost portion of the Biloxis’ territory to learn the ways of a wife and begin the beading of her wedding skins.”

  “Did she have to soften the skins by gnawing on them?” Duncan’s question was spoken with the utmost sincerity and total lack of judgment.

  “Anola was a princess. Such duties did not befall her.” Doggett smiled as he answered, amused.

  “Where did she get the beads?” Duncan asked.

  “Of course there weren’t beads like you have today.” Doggett picked up a stick and began to draw in the dirt. “They used shells of a beautiful color, or they were painted with natural dyes. And precious and semiprecious stones, feathers, carved and painted wood. The Indians were quite resourceful.”

  “The artwork I’ve seen, bits of jewelry and pottery, is primitive but very beautiful,” JoHanna joined in. “Some of the natural dyes are remarkably intense.”

  Doggett’s gaze lingered on her a fraction of a second too long. Then he started again. “For the bride, the wedding skins were bleached by natural herbs again and again until they were a light buff color and the beadwork would be more noticeable. But Anola didn’t get far into her wedding costume before fate offered her another path. She had gone out into the woods to hunt for special items to add to her dress. It was a warm fall day, and she decided to venture down to the edge of the Pascagoula River. She’d been warned not to go close to the water. The current was treacherous, and also there were parties of Pascagoulas wandering along the banks. The river marked the boundaries between the two tribes, and there were hostile feelings between the two.”

  He paused as he looked at JoHanna. “As a woman, Anola was not able to understand how one tribe could hate another when they didn’t even know each other. She did not believe that another Indian, no matter what tribe he belonged to, would hurt a harmless maiden as she searched for the bounty of the earth to adorn her wedding dress.”

  “They killed her!” Duncan was wide-eyed with horror, as was Floyd, who’d edged up to sit close beside her.

  “No, they didn’t kill her.” Doggett dispelled that idea immediately. “Anola was digging up a mussel shell from the thick dark clay with a stick when she heard laughter carried down the water. Sound travels easily on water, especially a river with a good current. She knew the man laughing was not near, but she could not resist seeing who was making such bold sounds in the woods without fear of being heard. Abandoning the many items she’d gathered on the banks of the river, she crept back into the woods and started upstream.

  “What she saw would change her life forever. A Pascagoula warrior was bathing in the river, splashing and laughing at his own pleasure. Even as Anola hid in the bushes, the young warrior stood up, water sliding down his gleaming body, and came toward her.

  “Legend has it that Anola rose from her hiding place at the sight of him. He saw her, and they stood staring at each other for a long time, while all the creatures of the forest stilled at the thing that was happening before them. Anola and Altama fell instantly in love. The beautiful young maiden never went back to reclaim her treasures on the banks of the river or her wedding gown or her intended groom. She walked straight into the river and swam across with Altama, the prince of the Pascagoula tribe.”

  Doggett’s voice lowered, and he looked down at the tips of his boots pointed into the air. Almost self-consciously, he reached and brushed at the top of them as if he’d suddenly noticed they were dusty.

  “I didn’t expect a love story.” JoHanna’s comment was wry, but her lips were slightly parted and moist. She’d been as affected by the tale as the rest of us.

  “Did they live happily ever after?” Floyd asked.

  “No, they didn’t.” Doggett’s answer took us all by surprise. “I wish I could say they did. I hadn’t really thought of it before, but not even in legend do the Indians have happy endings. The love between the beautiful Anola and her warrior prince Altama ended in a war.” He looked down at the meaningless designs he’d drawn in the dirt.

  “Did Altama and the Pascagoulas win?” Duncan asked, prodding him for more detail.

  Doggett sighed, as if the events he recounted had just happened in the past week. “It was the night of the full moon when the Biloxis attacked the Pascagoula, intending to kill them or take them as slaves.”

  “The Indians had slaves?” Duncan was impressed.

  “Slavery is an ancient practice,” JoHanna answered her and then lifted a finger to her lips so that Doggett could finish the story.

  “Anola climbed to the highest bluff of the river. She’d selected the spot so that the moon silhouetted her, so that the Biloxis would know her shape. She called out to her father, begging him to stop the bloodshed. She told him that she had gone with Altama of her own free will and that she loved him more than life. She pleaded with him, as the daughter of his heart, to call a truce and for both tribes to live in peace. But her father paid her no heed. As the bride of Altama, she was no longer a Biloxi.”

  “How could he be so cruel?” Duncan was crying.

  “The Pascagoulas were a gentler tribe, and they had been decimated by high fevers and sickness. Worse than death, though, they feared slavery. It was Anola who found the solution to their dilemma. Calling the tribe around her, she led them to the edge of the water where the moon silvered a path to the land of the spirits. Her sweet voice, thickened by tears, directed them as they all joined hands, forming one straight line down a sand bar much like the one in front of us. Fearing death less than slavery, they walked into the water of the river, singing their death chant as they drowned. On still nights, when the moon is full and the color of blood, you can hear their voices beneath the water.”

  Wind rattled through the wild wisteria above me, sending down a sudden scattering of leaves. A young female cardinal, her reddish gray feathers less obvious than her mate, perched on a limb beside Doggett and eyed Pecos. She gave two long trills that ended on high notes, as if she questioned the rooster about the company he kept.

  “Is that a true story?” Duncan’s voice held hope that it was and hope that it wasn’t.

  “It’s a legend of my people. It happened long before I was born, but I can tell you that it’s true about the singing. That’s why the river is called the Singing River.”

  “You’ve heard it?” Floyd asked.

  “Yes, on two occasions. Both in the light of the Hunter’s Moon.”

  Duncan reached over and touched his shin. “Will you take us to hear it, this October, on the next full moon?”

  Doggett looked beyond her at JoHanna, waiting to see her response to the request. JoHanna’s nod was slight, but it was there.

  “Of course. I’d be delighted, but you have to promise me that by then you’ll be walking. I want us to wade into the water a bit, so we can feel the vibration of the voices against our skin.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. I had no right to object, but I could not believe JoHanna was going along with such foolishness. Duncan walking into the river in October at night. It was insane. What if she wasn’t walking by then? It was wrong to put such pressure on the child.

  “I’ll be walking by then, don’t you think?” Duncan’s faith was shining in her eyes. “You’ll help me, won’t you, John?”

  “As much as you need me,” he answered.

  “Can we work on my legs some more in the river?”

  Once again Doggett waited for JoHanna’s nod. “Certainly, but not too much longer. It has to go a bit at a time. Waking up a muscle is like waking up a person. You don’t want to do it fast and startle her.”

  Duncan laughed, and Floyd stood without being told to carry her back to the water. JoHanna rose and I did, too.

  “I think I’m going to go back and help Aunt Sadie with some herbs. She said she’d show me some of the t
hings she uses to stop bleeding. I’d really like to learn.”

  JoHanna wasn’t fooled by my earnest little speech, but she didn’t press me.

  “It’s not much fun to sit in the hot sand.” Her glance traveled down to my skirt. “Are you bleeding?”

  “I don’t think so.” I shook my head. “I just can’t be certain. I’m perfectly fine, but I’ve had enough of the sun. And I do want to learn what Sadie is willing to teach me.”

  “She’s virtually a witch.” JoHanna handed me her hat. “Wear that home. The top of your head is already glowing, even here in the shade.”

  “What about …”

  “Believe it or not, the way my hair is cut it deflects the sun.”

  It was the craziest thing I’d ever heard, and it made me laugh.

  “Go on, now. Just take your time and be careful. You want me to walk you back?”

  “And leave Duncan in the hands of John Doggett and Floyd? Not on your life.”

  She laughed again and waved me toward the tunnel of green even as she turned back to the river and the two men standing waist-deep, their boots and shoes scattered like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs as a trail back the way they’d come. Duncan’s squall of mock horror was the final straw. JoHanna was moving away from me toward her child even before she knew it. She turned back, still walking away. “Be careful, Mattie. And don’t worry. Everything is fine here. Duncan is getting better.”

  I waved, saying nothing, and turned toward the road.

  I took my time, examining strange leaves and bushes, plucking several things I wanted Aunt Sadie to name. Maybe I’d even bring her something she needed. I took only the unusual, sometimes pulling up leaf, flower, root and all. As I grew more absorbed in my collecting, I felt the anxiety slip away from me. Perhaps John Doggett was exactly what he said, a writer who was part-Indian and loved the area and had simply come to write about it. Maybe it was my own attraction to him that I felt, and not JoHanna’s. Although he frightened me for reasons I couldn’t fathom, I was still honest enough with myself to admit that he fascinated me. And excited me.

  In truth, he tempted me, offering me some indefinable something that seemed both delicious and dangerous all at once. Forbidden. And again I thought of the snake, and of Adam and Eve.

  As it was, my thoughts were already a bit sinister when he stepped out of the woods not five feet in front of me.

  I didn’t scream, but I bit the inside of my mouth in my efforts not to do so. “What do you want?” The question was rudely put.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Mattie. I took a shortcut through the woods to catch you before you got too far along.”

  “Where’s JoHanna and Duncan?”

  “In the river with Floyd. Waiting for me.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “A point of curiosity. Why don’t you like me? Or should I say why do you dislike me so strongly? I’ve done nothing to harm you.”

  I thought perhaps he knew already and was merely taunting me, but his dark eyes were troubled.

  “I’d like to be your friend.”

  His directness forced me to look down. I could not meet him with openness.

  “You think I’ll do something to harm JoHanna, don’t you?”

  That brought my head up, and my gaze locked with his. “Yes.”

  “I’d lie if I said I wasn’t drawn to her.”

  There it was, between us. “She’s married to Will, and she loves him.” I felt as if I couldn’t get enough air to make my sentences complete. “They love each other. Don’t mess with them, Doggett. Leave them in peace.”

  He didn’t mock me, as I expected. “I mean her no harm.”

  “And Will? Can you say the same of him?”

  His smile was not mocking, but sad. “He has a champion in you, so he must be a good man. I can see that you’re a little bit in love with him yourself.”

  “I’d never—”

  He shook his head slowly, stopping my denial before it could be spoken. “You’re a noble young woman, Mattie. I don’t question that at all. And far too young to be married to Elikah Mills.”

  His use of Elikah’s name was like a sharp slap. “What do you know of Elikah?”

  “Enough.” He didn’t look away from me.

  I remembered then that he’d said he heard the singing of the drowned Indians twice, both on the night of the Hunter’s Moon. So he’d been in Fitler, or somewhere along the river, for at least two years. Had he been in Jexville? Had Elikah sent him to find me? I opened my mouth to find air, I was suffocating.

  His hands grabbed my arms. “Steady,” he said, watching me. “Elikah is some kind of man that the mention of his name terrifies his new bride.”

  There was scorn in his voice, and I knew he hadn’t been sent to spy on me or bring me home.

  “How do you know my husband?”

  His dark gaze was shadowed by what looked like pity. “Do you want the truth?”

  I shook off his hands. “Of course I want the truth.”

  “I know Elikah Mills by reputation. He has one in some of the bigger towns.”

  A wave of shame smashed over me, but I stood my ground, refusing to look away from him. I knew what reputation Elikah must have been building.

  “I only meant to say that I see goodness in you. And innocence. I regret that you married Elikah, because I see little goodness in him.”

  As much as I wanted to defend my husband, I could not. I swallowed. “I didn’t choose my husband, but I have chosen my friends. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do anything that makes trouble for JoHanna or Duncan.” I swung away from him and started down the sandy road back to Fitler. Just above the tops of the big oaks in the distance I could see the blackened scaffolding of some of the taller buildings.

  I felt his gaze on my back as I hurried along, but he didn’t call out to me and I didn’t turn around until I had rounded a curve. Sneaking back, I peeked around a big live oak and found the roadway empty.

  He’d undoubtedly stepped back into the woods, taking some shortcut that I didn’t know. But I had the most disturbing sensation that he’d completely disappeared.

  Twenty-one

  FROM the flowers, roots, and leaves that I’d gathered, Aunt Sadie put five out to dry. One small plant, less than a foot tall with dull yellow trumpet flowers that opened on deep purple throats, she continued to examine. I’d picked it more for its flower than anything, but Aunt Sadie held it in her palm as if it weighed at least five pounds.

  “What is it?” I reached to touch it, but she lowered her hand.

  “Folks call it several things. Where’d you find it?”

  Intrigued by what once had been a white picket fence, I had wandered off the road toward an old homesite. “In a small cemetery. Eckhart was the name on the tombstones.” I felt like I was confessing to trespassing. “The place had been abandoned a long time. Nothing left but a chimney and some old boards.”

  “I know the place.” Aunt Sadie went to the stove and turned on the kettle, the plant still in her hand. “Was it growing by the road?”

  “I was picking those spider lilies around a crepe myrtle and I saw the old headstones. When I went over to look, the flowers caught my eye. They’re unusual.”

  “Were there more?”

  “Just around one grave. Lillith Eckhart. She died in 1885. She wasn’t all that old either. She was born during the war.”

  Sadie lifted her hand and stared at the plant. “The War Between the States. Lillith was close to my age, we both came to Fitler about the same time. She was a beautiful young woman when I knew her.” She pinched a leaf and sniffed it, backing off it quickly. “Smells like tobacco.”

  I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. “What kind of plant is it?”

  “Folks call it Jupiter bean, or devil’s eye.”

  “Is it a good plant?”

  “Yes. It can be very soothing to a person in an agitated state.”

  “Like chamo
mile tea.” Aunt Sadie had given me more than one cup of that, and it did make me relax.

  “Yes.” She went out to the porch and put the plant down in a shady corner.

  “Is it the root or the leaves?” I asked her. She’d been telling me how different plants had different parts that were useful.

  “Both of those, and in a few weeks it’ll go to seed. Those are good to use, too. But there isn’t a great need for devil’s eye when there’s chamomile tea.” She put her hand on the kettle just as it started to whistle. “How about some tea and a nap for you? That sun has blistered your skin and drained your energy. You look done in, young-un.”

  I was exhausted. The sun, the anxiety of John Doggett’s presence, then the coolness of the house, the safety that I felt in Aunt Sadie’s presence, all had combined to sap my energy. I had to admit that I wasn’t as strong as I normally was. “I think I’d like a nap if you don’t want me to help you with the plants.”

  “Take your rest while Duncan and that rooster are out of the house. Lands sake, why I ever let that fowl in my home I’ll never know. Filthy creature.”

  I smiled at the emotion in her voice. I was the only one she could speak to about Pecos. Duncan, Floyd, and JoHanna defended the bird’s right to be indoors. Even I had kindlier feelings toward him since he’d not taken to Doggett.

  The thought of Doggett made me frown, something that Aunt Sadie didn’t miss.

  “Anything wrong?”

  “That man, John Doggett, he says he’s a writer. Is it true?”

  “I’d heard he was living somewhere up on the Chickasawhay and working on some kind of history story. Up until yesterday I thought he’d left the area, though.”

  “Then he’s been here a good while?”

  “He comes and goes. Just when folks get used to him being around, he’s gone. I’ve heard he’s part Indian.”

  “He is, or so he claims.”

  Aunt Sadie’s interest was piqued. “Up until he stood in the yard yesterday, I was beginning to think he was a ghost. There’s been talk, but hardly anyone actually claimed to have laid eyes on him. He’s a handsome devil.”