On
his way to St. Augustine from the summer camp of his people, Sailfish
has camped out for the night when he gets an unexpected visitor. A
sick, old panther has followed a wounded person into his little camp.
He kills the panther and sets about bandaging the person's wounds.
With
a cry of surprise, Sailfish sat hard on the ground, legs flying
upward. The person lying on the ground wasn't a young man at all.
Puzzled, he gazed into the silent face.
"Who
are you, little one, and where do you come from?"
The
day neared mid-afternoon when the young woman stirred, opening eyes
the color of new palm fronds. The gentle green was flecked with
specks of gold. Sailfish's dark, penetrating gaze met hers as he
smiled. Two spots of color rose in her cheeks when she realized her
chest was swathed in bandages and nothing else. Scrabbling weakly
with the edges of Sailfish's matchcoat, she tried to pull it over
her. He kindly averted his eyes, concealing his smile.
"Forgive
me for pointing out I've already seen you." He spoke softly in
Spanish, hoping she understood.
She
babbled quickly in response. It took him a moment to realize she was
speaking French, her accent was slightly different from what he was
used to. He repeated himself, in French this time, raising the edge
of the cloth to her chin.
"Merci,"
she replied, mortified by her nakedness. Turning her head as far as
she could from his gaze, her blush deepened.
"How
do you happen to be out here alone?" he asked.
"My
family," she sighed, picking at the frayed, singed edge of his
matchcoat. "They were killed. I was the only one to get away. I
don't even know where I am."
"Where
are you from?"
She
wouldn't speak.
"Who
killed them?"
"Men
like you."
"Like
me? You mean Indian men?"
She
nodded, her eyes full of tears.
"Exactly
like me?" His tribe was distinctive. All the men were very tall
and tattooed from head to foot, their hair decorated with beads, bits
of shell and metal. No other tribes bred such tall warriors.
The
young woman shrugged, gasping as her flesh pulled uncomfortably
against her wounds. "They were not as tall as you, but were dark
and angry men. They killed Papa, shot him through the chest. My
mother—" She shuddered. "She was not so lucky. My sisters
either. My baby brother, they took him away. I don't know how they
killed him. He was screaming, then suddenly he stopped."
"How
did you escape?"
"I
was in the woods with my friend. He made me hide until it was over."
"He
was wise to do so."
"He
tried to help my mother, but they killed him too. It was awful."
She burst into tears, sobbing piteously.
Sailfish
wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how. A girl who had seen her
family brutalized and murdered by Indians would hardly turn to
another for solace. Instead, he gave her some broth he he'd made from
jerked meat.
She
drank hungrily, asking for more when she was through. "I haven't
eaten for so long."
"Then
that is all you may have for now. If you eat too much, you will lose
it."
Conceding
the truth of his statement, the girl fell into an uneasy sleep.
Sailfish finished a simple shelter to keep the sun off her and caught
fish for their evening meal. She still hadn't woken by the time it
was ready.
He
ate his meal in silence, waiting for the girl to wake. She woke as he
cleaned up after his meal. Sailfish served her some food, hoping she
would make the next move. Unused to the company of women not of his
tribe, he had no idea what to speak to her about. There wasn't that
problem with Gabriella. She always had plenty to say. His face
clouded.
The
bright, green eyes missed little. Touching him fleetingly, she drew
his attention. "What makes you
sad?" It was strange how she said it, emphasis strong on the
pronoun. She knew her own grief, but his sorrow puzzled her.
"Something
very hard to explain," he said.
Instead
of elaborating, he walked to the river and washed his dishes. He
cleaned up around the camp, checked the fire and lay down with his
pack for a pillow.
"She
must be someone very beautiful," the girl stated quietly,
staring at the growing darkness.
"Who?"
"The
woman you carry in your heart."
"What
makes you think it's that?" Sailfish's tone turned defensive.
"Because
the only time I saw that expression on my older brother's face, was
when a woman broke his heart."
©
2017 Dellani Oakes
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