Authors: Cassie Edwards
We may affirm absolutely that nothing
Great int he world has been accomplished
Without passion.
—Georg Hegel
As the sun spiraled down through the leaves of the beautiful cypress trees that stood on both sides of the narrow channel
of Bone River, Chief Wolf Dancer made his way through the water in his canoe.
He was on his way back to the home he had established amid the swamps, in a place he had named Mystic Island.
The muscles of his arms flexed with each pull of the paddle through the hazy green water, his mind on the vision he had just
seen.
The beautiful white woman with golden hair.
He would still be gazing upon her except for the interruption of a white man carrying another white man in his arms. He had
seen an arrow lodged in one man’s chest, yet knew that none of his warriors were responsible.
He had taught his people not to do anything that would annoy whites and bring the white man’s soldiers to the Everglade waters.
His Seminole people had learned long ago to of white men, especially those who carried white flags with them, which the whites
called “flags of truce.”
All Seminole now knew to call them “flags of deceit,” for most of the Seminole people had been forced off their homeland and
sent to what were known as “reservations,” where his people’s pride was stolen from them, as well as their freedom.
His Wind Clan of Seminole had successfully eluded capture and the reservation.
Some white soldiers had tried to reach his island, but none had ever succeeded. As long as he was chief, they would not come
and interfere in his people’s lives.
He would think no further about the downed white man, or who he might be.
That was only one more white man who could never do his clan an injustice like so many whites had done to other clans.
He was proud that he had established his clan in a remote, inaccessible portion of the Everglades, where there were fields
of corn and other foods that his people had planted for their cook pots. The land of the Everglades also provided much game,
as well as food taken from the water that surrounded their island.
Turtle meat was one of the best-loved foods, as well as alligator meat; the tails of the smaller, younger alligators were
the most valued and tender.
He smiled as he remembered the many times he had wrestled a large alligator to get to the smaller ones. After killing the
big one, he would proudly takehome its skin, which was used for making clothes and household products, while the meat from
the smaller one would go to the cook pots.
No, neither he nor his clan would ever give up their home or their freedom to whites.
It made him angry all over again when he recalled how some of the Seminole had been enticed to give up their homeland for
eight hundred dollars to each warrior and four hundred to each woman and child.
He was proud to say that his forefathers had not been among those who were tricked by the Spaniards, or by the Americans.
The only white person he would like to know was the woman with the long and flowing golden hair and eyes the color of violets.
Only recently had he dared to travel this close to the tall white house that was called a mansion. On three sides of it were
fields of tobacco, and on the fourth, the river that he was now traveling on to return to his home and his duties as chief.
Although he had vowed to himself only moments ago not to think about the murdered white man, he could not help wondering what
he was to the golden-haired woman. For when she had discovered that he was dead, she had collapsed into a faint.
Could that man have been her husband?
Wolf Dancer had seen her loving manner toward the white child and wondered if this child was her daughter.
He chided himself for his curiosity about the golden-haired woman, yet she had captured hisheart in the brief moments he’d
observed her. He could not erase her from his mind any more than he could deny his own identity as a Seminole!
But he knew that she was forbidden to him; to care for a white woman might bring trouble into his people’s lives, and he had
protected them from the moment he had become chief upon the death of his father seven moons ago.
Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of something unexpected a short distance away in the river.
It was a canoe floating aimlessly about, and from his vantage point, he could only conclude that it was empty, for he saw
no one in it.
He was curious as to whom the canoe might belong to; it had been made in the same way his people made their canoes, from a
hollowed cypress tree; such boats were called pirogues by his people. He went onward, then stopped when he had his own pirogue
alongside the other one. As he looked down, he saw how wrong he had been to think no one occupied the canoe.
A black man lay there on his back, unconscious, an arrow in his upper right shoulder, with blood dripping onto the floor of
the pirogue.
Wolf Dancer knew about the slaves that worked the fields for whites and could only assume that this man was an escaped slave.
Yet who had shot him?
He studied the design of the arrow. It was of his own Seminole people’s design.
But as he had concluded when he’d seen thatother arrow lodged in the white man’s chest, none of his people were responsible.
No one in his clan was foolish enough to do anything to bring harm to the women and children of their village.
So who could be responsible?
Who was trying to cast blame on his people?
This was not the time to reason the mystery out in his mind.
The black man had suffered the loss of much blood.
He might even be near death.
Determined to do what he could to save the wounded man, Wolf Dancer climbed from his canoe into the other, gently lifted the
man into his arms, and transferred him to his own pirogue.
Allowing the other pirogue to float away, Wolf Dancer arranged the man on bottom of his canoe. As carefully as he could, he
broke off the portion of the arrow that protruded from the man’s shoulder.
He had no choice but to leave the other half embedded in the man’s flesh until he could get him back to Mystic Island, where
his people’s shaman could then take over.
Suddenly the black man’s eyes slowly opened and looked directly into Wolf Dancer’s. He grabbed Wolf Dancer by the arm, his
hand trembling.
“Mah name’s Joshua,” he managed to say between gasping breaths. “You should know…no Indian did this to me. It…
it…was done by one of my massas. It…was…supposed to look likean Indian kill, when and if my body wuz…wuz…ever found.”
“You do not need to explain,” Wolf Dancer said gently. “You must save your energy. I will take you to my shaman. He will do
what he can for you.”
Joshua’s hand tightened on Wolf Dancer’s arm. “Hiram…Price…is de one,” he said, his voice now almost a whisper,
yet strong enough for Wolf Dancer to hear. “He’s de man that done left me fo’ dead in the river. I…was…lucky that
I found a canoe. That canoe saved me from the clutches of death. Thank de Lord that you came along…and…cared enough
to try and save me.”
Since he saw that Joshua was determined to continue talking, Wolf Dancer saw no wrong in questioning him.
“Why did the man you know as Hiram Price do this to you?” he asked. He watched the man’s eyes drift closed, and then suddenly
open again.
“ ’Cause I witnessed my one massa kill de otha,” Joshua said. He swallowed hard. “Dey were brothas. One brotha killed the
other brotha.”
“Why would a brother hate his brother enough to kill him?” Wolf Dancer asked, feeling the man’s hand weakening in his grip.
“ ’Cause de massa who killed de other wants not only all the Price Plantation, but also de woman…his brotha’s wife,”
Joshua said, his voice now a shallow whisper. “Dat’s why. Hiram is a sinner in many ways. De Bible says to covet another man’s
wife is very…very…sinful, but when Hiram killed fo’ her, he took one more step into hell today.”
Hearing the name of the plantation made Wolf Dancer know exactly which woman Joshua was making reference to.
He knew the name of the plantation where he had been watching the golden-haired beauty.
His scout had discovered the name of the place not long ago and had brought it to his chief’s attention.
He had been curious to observe the plantation today because it had only recently changed hands. He had wanted to see the new
owners, to judge whether or not they were just people, and whether they represented a threat to his small band. Until today,
he had not known enough about the new owners to make a judgment. But now that he knew one owner had used an arrow to kill
his brother, Wolf Dancer realized that he was going to be dealing with people who would be working against the Seminole.
But the woman!
He envisioned even now the woman that Joshua was talking about…her long, golden hair, her violet eyes, her tininess,
and her innocence.
“Sweet Lavinia no longer has a husband,” Joshua said, his eyes closing. “He was killed by his very own brotha.”
This news confirmed to Wolf Dancer that the woman was now alone. She no longer had a husband to protect her. And she was living
in the same house as the man who had killed her husband.
Wolf Dancer was determined to find a way to know her and to protect her.
Yes, she must be saved from such a man as would kill his very own brother to have her!
“My name is Chief Wolf Dancer,” he said quickly, for Joshua looked as though he was ready to drift off again. “You are with
a friend.”
Joshua’s eyes remained open long enough to meet the dark gaze of Wolf Dancer. Joshua knew now that he was in the company of
the most elusive Seminole chief of all.
He also sensed that Wolf Dancer was a man of peace…a good and honorable man of integrity. He spoke gently and his words
tugged at Joshua’s heart and inspired his spirit. He had heard that Wolf Dancer was very smart and could match wits with any
white man.
Joshua believed that Wolf Dancer would find a way to make wrongs right for Lavinia, as well as for Joshua’s own family…his wife Lorna…his daughter Twila.
Joshua could not help believing that he would have been dead if this kind Indian had not come upon him floating in the river
in the canoe, and was doing what he could to save his life.
Also he would not believe that the good Lord would allow him to die, not when he had a wife and daughter to look after.
Yes, Joshua did believe the good Lord above would keep him alive so that he could be with his wife and child again.
They needed him.
He…needed…them.
Just the thought of his Twila and Lorna brought him a feeling of gentle peace. He carried them with him always, in his heart.
When Wolf Dancer saw a look of peace come into Joshua’s eyes just before he closed them and drifted off into an unconscious
state, the chief felt that that peaceful feeling alone might help save the wounded man.
But Wolf Dancer also knew that precious time had elapsed in talk and discoveries, and that the delay might have dangerously
weakened Joshua.
He lifted the paddle and worked his way toward Mystic Island.
And there was someone else to consider. Wolf Dancer’s mind wandered again to the woman who intrigued him so much.
He must…he would…help her!
Lavinia.
Yes, the name of the white woman was Lavinia.
The name was as lovely as the woman to whom it belonged!
Love bade me welcome;
Yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
—George Herbert
A cool breeze fluttered the sheer curtains at Lavinia’s bedroom windows.
The sweet smell of magnolia flowers wafted into the room along with the breeze.
All the shutters had been thrown open in order to help cool the bedroom.
Lavinia’s four-poster canopy bed was positioned between two windows so that there would be a cross breeze blowing over her
for her comfort.
A wide stone fireplace took up the center of the far wall opposite the bed. On another wall stood a chest of drawers with
a round, gilt-framed mirror above it. A blanket chest sat at the foot of the bed. A handsome braided rug covered most of the
polished oak floor.
An attentive, worried Dorey sat on a rocking chair beside her mother’s bed, her eyes filled with tears as she watched and
waited for her mother to wake up.
Hiram had carried her mother up to her bedroom after she’d awakened from her faint.
The realization that an Indian had killed Virgil with an arrow, and the hideous sight of that arrow still protruding from
her husband’s chest, had been too much for Lavinia to bear.
She had since escaped the horror of it all by sleeping.
As Lavinia slowly awakened now, the instant recollection of what had happened to her husband was like an arrow to her own
heart.
Their marriage had been one of convenience instead of true love, arranged by their parents, but she had cared about him nonetheless.
She had been good to him, had done her wifely duties at night, even though his touch never stirred pleasure within her.
That she had given him pleasure had been enough, for he was the kindest man she had ever known besides her father, who was
now gone from this earth, as was her mother.
Her parents had been caught in the crossfire of two gunmen on the streets of Atlanta, Georgia, and killed instantly.
And now her husband was dead, too?
She now had only her daughter to live for. She vowed to make certain Dorey was happy and well cared for. That would be enough
for Lavinia, along with her memories of Virgil.
“Mama, I’m so glad you are finally awake,” Dorey said, quickly standing. She gazed down at her mother with love shining in
her eyes. “You’ve been asleep for such a long time. Are you going to be alright?”
Even with her daughter at her bedside, sweet and caring, Lavinia could not banish the awful picture of Hiram walking toward
her with Virgil in his arms. The memory of the arrow in her husband’s chest made her feel sick to her stomach even now, but
she forced herself to face the way life was now changed for both herself and her daughter.
“I will be alright,” Lavinia finally said. She sat up and positioned her pillow behind her back to make herself more comfortable.
She noticed that she still had on the dress she had worn since morning, but her shoes had been removed.
Her feet felt the comfort of the blanket that her daughter must have drawn over her after removing the lovely silk and lace-trimmed
bedspread that Lavinia herself had made.
She was so glad that she had never shared a bed with her husband, or it would be impossible to stay there now, to continue
resting while trying to accept the reality of Virgil’s death.
Although they had been loving toward one another, once he had come to her bed each night to take his pleasure, he had been
in the habit of returning to his own bed in a room down the corridor.
They both had preferred it that way.
They each had enjoyed having a bed to themselves, especially Lavinia. Virgil snored so loudly that when she had at first tried
to sleep with him as a newlywed, she had not gotten a wink of sleep.
It was his suggestion that he sleep elsewhere ifshe would not feel neglected by his doing so. She had quickly told him that
she never felt neglected while he was with her beneath the same roof. It wasn’t necessary for them to share the same bed for
a full night.
“Uncle Hiram…removed…the nasty arrow from papa,” Dorey said, visibly trembling.
“Thank goodness,” Lavinia said. She shuddered as she again envisioned her husband with the arrow lodged in his chest. It was
a sight she might never be able to forget. “I’ll go soon and start preparing him for burial.”
She gazed at Dorey, whose eyes were swollen from crying. “The funeral will be a quiet and quick one,” she murmured. “It will
only include our family.”
“I’m glad,” Dorey said. She wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “It would be horrible to wait for distant
relatives and friends to arrive.”
“That is exactly why I am doing it this way,” Lavinia said.
She gazed at her daughter, marveling as always at her loveliness. Her hair was the same golden color as Lavinia’s, and she
had a pretty face, delicate in every respect. Dorey had seen too often how cruel the world could be. She had not only lost
her father, but both sets of grandparents as well.
Lavinia was all that was left of her daughter’s world, for neither of them included Hiram when they spoke of family.
He was a deplorable, disgusting man. He reeked of sweat. His hands were always dripping with it.
And his one eye never stopped watching Lavinia. It was as though he were always mentally undressing her.
“Do you think the Indian that killed Papa will come and kill us, too?” Dorey suddenly asked, jarring Lavinia back to the moment.
“Please don’t worry about that,” Lavinia said, trying to reassure her daughter. She took one of Dorey’s tiny hands in hers.
“But, Mama, the Seminole Indians live so close,” Dorey said. She swallowed hard. “Do you think they are responsible for Papa’s
death?”
“I can see why you would think that, but, Dorey, they haven’t given us any problems, or anyone else as far as I know,” Lavinia
said softly. “And your father didn’t interfere in their lives, either. He left them alone, for he felt safer that way. He
certainly didn’t want to make an enemy of any Indians.”
“Then…what Indian did this?” Dorey persisted.
“I don’t know of any other Indians in the area who would have cause to attack your father,” Lavinia said thickly. “But someone
did. Who hated him enough to kill him? I just don’t know, Dorey,” Lavinia said, sighing. “Please, dear. I just don’t want
to talk or think about it any more. I am so tired. This has taken everything out of me.”
Dorey leaned down and hugged Lavinia. “Mama, I’ll leave you alone if that is what you want,” she murmured. “Is it?”
“Dear, you stay if you wish, or leave if you would rather do that,” Lavinia said as Dorey stepped slowly away from her. “I
know this isn’t any easier on you than on me.”
“Mama, Hiram told me not to be afraid about what happened to Papa,” Dorey said. “He said that he is here for us and that he
will care for us in Papa’s absence. He…he…even said that he would marry you to make it proper for us all to live
together under one roof. He said that would keep people from…talking.”
“Lord,” Lavinia said. She shivered with disgust at the very thought of Hiram touching her with his sweaty palms. “I would
never let that man touch me, much less…marry me. There is nothing about him that I like. Even Virgil was becoming wary
of him and his antics, and he was Hiram’s brother. Sometimes Virgil hated claiming Hiram as a relation.”
She paused, then again shuddered. “Marry Hiram?” she said softly. “I think not. Oh, how horrible a thought!”
“But, Mama, I truly believe he is planning to marry you,” Dorey said. She took a quick step backward when Lavinia swept the
blanket away from herself and left the bed.
In her bare feet Lavinia began pacing the floor. “I have a plan that, for a while at least, might keep Hiram at arm’s length,”
she said tightly. “I will see to your father’s burial; then I will find safety and solace here in my room. After your father’s
burial, I will let Hiram think that I am too distraught to leave my bed. For as long as I must, until he forgets this lunacy
of thinking I will marry him, I will hideaway in my room. He will think I am in my bed, day and night.”
“Mama, I’ll help you,” Dorey said. “I’ll spend my time here with you, reading books and embroidering. When Uncle Hiram inquires
about why I am spending so much time with you, and why you won’t leave the room, I’ll tell him I am reading to you to comfort
you because you are still so distraught over the loss of Papa.”
Suddenly Dorey covered her eyes and broke down in hard sobs. “Twila now has no mama or papa,” she cried. “While you were asleep,
Hiram killed Twila’s mama in a fit of rage, and her papa’s body will surely never be found.”
“Joshua…and…Lorna are both dead?” Lavinia gasped. “Joshua was killed by an arrow, too? And Lorna? Why did Hiram
kill Lorna? She…was…such a gentle soul, and so sweet.”
“She didn’t do what he ordered as quickly as he wanted,” Dorey said, her voice breaking. “It happened right after Uncle Hiram
carried you to your bed. He…he…went out to yell at the slaves for not working hard enough. It was then that he
told Lorna about her husband’s death. When she broke into tears and just kept on sobbing instead of returning to work in the
fields he…he…pulled his pistol on her. He…killed…her.”
“The maniac,” Lavinia said, pale at hearing the horrible news.
Lavinia placed her hands on Dorey’s shoulders as she gazed down into her daughter’s eyes. “Dorey, I will leave my room long
enough to instruct Hiramto assign Twila house duties so that you can keep an eye on her while I am hiding away in my room,”
she said. “I don’t trust him any farther than I can throw him. Since Twila no longer has parents to watch out for her, Hiram
might take liberties with her. I will not allow that to happen.”
“Mama, I don’t trust Uncle Hiram at all,” Dorey said, her voice drawn. “The way he looks at me with his one eye sometimes
makes me want to vomit.”
“Daughter,” Lavinia said, bending to her knees so that she could be at eye level with Dorey. She framed Dorey’s face between
her hands. “While I have breath left in my lungs, I assure you that Hiram won’t touch either you or Twila. Go now. Tell Twila
to come to the house. I’ll make things right for her with Hiram. When I get done with him, he’ll know to keep his hands to
himself as far as you and Twila…and myself…are concerned.”
“Oh, thank you, Mama,” Dorey cried as she flung herself into her mother’s arms. “Thank you for both me and Twila. I’ll go
now and get her.”
Lavinia rose slowly to her feet as Dorey ran from the room.
But before leaving her room, Lavinia went to one of the windows and swept the curtain aside so that she could look at the
huge old oak tree where she had first seen the green-eyed white panther, and then…moments later…a green-eyed Indian!
Had she truly seen them?
Had she truly seen one and then the other, or neither?
She was known to have a very vivid imagination. Had her imagination played tricks on her when she had gazed at that old oak
tree?
Surely she would never, ever know!