Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Shaman by Robert Shea (nice books to read TXT) 📖
- Author: Robert Shea
Book online «Shaman by Robert Shea (nice books to read TXT) 📖». Author Robert Shea
"I'll die if I stay here." Her eyes were dull with hopelessness.
"No, you won't. I'll take care of you. My family will protect you—Redbird, Sun Woman, Owl Carver, Iron Knife. You'll be safe with me."
She leaned against him. "Auguste, I can't bear being so frightened. My heart is so full of fear it will burst."
"The band will not free you, but they will not hurt you. They respect me. I talk to the spirits for them and heal them."
She took a long look at him and spoke more calmly. "You look so strange, dressed like a—like a—"
"Like a real Indian?" He tried giving her a little smile. For an instant a little life came back into her face.
I can heal her fear, too, if she will let me.
He felt an inward glow as she managed to return a tremulous smile.
She said, "But you're still that fine young gentleman who charmed me so, back at Victor, aren't you?"
"Yes, I'm that man too." He looked down at her bare feet. "You've lost your moccasins. We must get you another pair." And she was lucky not to have a leech or two clinging to her feet; so was he. His moccasins were lost too. Clothing would be hard to come by, with the band on the run in strange country, but he need not make her feel worse by telling her that.
"I have to resign myself to staying with your people, don't I?" she asked. "Thank God you're here, Auguste. Maybe it was Providence that your uncle stole your estate from you."
Yes, Earthmaker's way is surprising, he thought.
"One thing I must ask of you, Nancy. For your protection, you and I must go through a wedding ceremony. Then no one will be allowed to bother you."
"A wedding!" She let go of him and stepped away quickly.
His heartbeat quickened with anxiety over her apparent shock.
"Nothing to be afraid of. A simple ceremony." He recalled his wedding to Redbird last fall. He might be a shaman, but he'd not had the slightest premonition that he would go through the same ceremony with a different woman less than a year later.
"But you already have a wife. That pretty little woman who is ... expecting." She reddened. "You told me she was your wife." Soaking wet, she turned forlornly away from him.[320]
"In our tribe men may have more than one wife."
He expected to see contempt in her eyes, her pale eyes' morality outraged.
Instead she said sadly, "Is she the reason you would not do what I wanted the night you left Victor? Were you married to her even then?"
He had to force the words out. "No, but I did love her even then. And she— That blue-eyed boy you've seen in our wickiup—he is our son. He was born after my father took me to Victoire."
She shook her head, the blond braids swinging. "You were honest with me. You didn't tell me about Redbird, but you didn't make a fool of me, as another man might have. A man like your uncle. But how does your wife feel about me?"
What did she mean, A man like your uncle? Had Raoul approached her? He put that question aside while he framed an answer to her question.
"Redbird agrees to this wedding. She, too, wants to help you. If you are part of our family you will be protected. She wants that."
She stared at him. "But I'm a Christian! I can't go through a pagan wedding ceremony to be your second wife. How could I do that to my father, a minister?"
He tried to sound reassuring. "We will all know, you and I and Redbird, that it is not a real marriage. I've no doubt your Christian God will see and understand. And your father, if he sees you, surely he wants you to live."
No, Philip Hale, as I remember him, might well expect her to die for her faith. He might well want his daughter to join him in the other world. But never mind.
He went on quickly, "Of course, you will not have to—know me, as your Bible says. In the sight of the tribe you will be my wife, that is all. In our wickiup your virtue will be respected."
She laughed ruefully, but tears were running down her cheeks. "Oh, Auguste, remember how I begged you to marry me? I even prayed for it, would you have imagined that? And now my prayer has been answered. Only it didn't turn out exactly the way I hoped, did it?"
White Bear's heart filled up with a dark foreboding. Nothing had turned out as any of them hoped, but much had happened as they feared.
[321]
17Uncle Sam's Men
Tears filled Raoul's eyes, blurring the newspaper and the letter on his candlelit camp table. His hands were cold as a corpse's as he pressed them against the sides of his head.
Oh, God! A drink! I need a drink!
He reached for the jug beside the letter. A hand lifted the tent flap and Eli Greenglove slouched in.
The sight of him frightened Raoul. Did he know yet?
Not much chance there'd be a letter for Eli in the sack of two-week-old mail that had just caught up with Raoul's battalion. No one in Victor likely to write to Eli. Not now.
Eli's mouth was drawn hard. It was a hot night, and he wore no jacket, only a plain brown calico work shirt, with a pistol and a knife at his wide brown belt.
"Levi Pope got a letter from his missuz. There was an Injun raid on Victor. You hear anything?" Eli's voice was as flat as the prairie. He sat on Raoul's camp trunk.
"Yes," Raoul said, choking on the single word. "A war party attacked Victoire."
He took a swallow from the jug. A cold, aching space was growing in the pit of his stomach. The whiskey settled in the middle of the ache like a tiny campfire in the middle of a blizzard.
He handed the jug to Eli, and Eli sipped and put the jug back on the table.
"Goddammit, don't just sit there staring at me." Eli displayed his ruined teeth as his lip curled back in a snarl. "What 'n hell happened?"[322]
Raoul picked up the letter in a shaking hand and read aloud—horrible words, written in a flowing black script.
"'It is my sad duty as your sister to send you the news that Clarissa Greenglove and your two sons have perished at the hands of Indians.'"
"Oh, Lord God an' Savior," Eli groaned. His head fell back on his neck, his mouth open. His Adam's apple stuck out.
"'Also that our beloved Victoire has burned to the ground.'"
Raoul went on:
"Clarissa and Andrew and Philip, along with other people who lived at Victoire and in Victor, were murdered on the morning of June seventeenth.
"In your sorrow, may it comfort you to know that your fortified trading post, where we took shelter and defended ourselves, saved the lives of most of us. The cannon that you set in the blockhouse was employed to good effect, even though we hesitated at first to use it, since no one here knew how to fire such a weapon. Nevertheless, fire it we did, and broke the Indians' last charge and drove them off.
"Mr. Burke Russell, whom you placed in charge of the trading post, was killed whilst fighting on the parapet. Mr. David Cooper, whom you also appointed as caretaker, gave us the leadership and strength we badly needed to see us through. He was the only experienced fighting man among us.
"I cannot bear to write more. The sights we saw when we came out of the blockhouse will haunt my dreams forever.
"Though the Indians could not lay hands on our bodies, they destroyed our property. Our house was burned down and our printing press and woodworking machines ruined.
"When it was all over, Frank rode to Galena, though I begged him not to, for fear there were Indians yet lurking about. But he must needs publish his paper. He arranged to have an edition of the Visitor printed on the press of the Galena Miners Gazette, and brought the copies back here on a wagon. I am sending you a copy of the paper under this cover. Frank's account will tell you everything there is to know about the raid, and more perhaps than you would wish to know.
"Our father is well. He and Guichard fought bravely in our defense.[323]
"I do not reproach you. My heart goes out to you, Brother, for I know you must be suffering. Remember that all happens as God ordains. May He grant you peace."
What the hell does she mean, "All happens as God ordains?" God wanted my woman and my kids murdered by Indians?
"Oh, Christ Jesus," Eli said. He shook his head, then resting his elbows on his knees, pressed his hands to the top of his head.
Even Papa had to fight.
Raoul's heart felt bruised, as if beaten with a hammer.
I do not reproach you. That was reproach enough. He had taken every man who would sign up for the militia. He had promised them their wives and children would be safe. He'd led them away in pursuit of Black Hawk, vengeance and glory.
Eli looked up. "What does it say in the newspaper?"
Raoul started to hand it to him.
"You read it to me."
Raoul had forgotten that Eli couldn't read. Clarissa couldn't either. Now she'd never learn. Nor would the boys.
He shook his head and brushed his hand across his forehead. "I can't read this out loud."
Greenglove's eyes were hard as bullets. "You wipe your damned eyes and read that damned newspaper."
Raoul rubbed his eyes and took another pull from the jug. Greenglove held out his hand and Raoul passed him the jug.
Raoul picked up the newspaper, hating the sight of it, and began to read the column headed with the single word, MASSACRE!
Frank's story told how the people in the trading post held the Indians off all day and finally drove them away by firing the cannon. Then came the grievous task of finding and burying those who had not had time to reach safety.
Then, for Raoul, the most dreadful lines of all:
In the ashes of Victoire, it appeared from examination of the charred remains that the skulls of the men and women had been cloven by tomahawk blows. Parts of the children's bodies were scattered about the ruins, as if they had been chopped to bits before the Indians set fire to the great house.
[324]
Why hadn't Clarissa gotten away? She'd taken to drinking heavily in the last year, so much so that he'd had to hit her more than once for letting the boys run loose without keeping an eye on them. She had probably been lying abed in a drunken stupor while everyone was fleeing the château, the boys sleeping in the room with her. Hadn't anyone tried to wake them?
Those faithful French servants who loved Elysée and Pierre so much, they didn't give a damn about Raoul's whore and his bastard sons. After all, he had thwarted Pierre's dying wishes. And he had struck his aged father with his fist in front of all those Victoire people.
Still, they'd have been human enough to try to do something. If they'd had time. They'd holler and bang on the door. Try to wake them up. But there wouldn't have been time. A hundred or more Indians galloping down on the château. The servants who saw them coming would barely have time to get away. Some of them hadn't made it. Some of them had died with Clarissa and the boys; maybe the ones who'd stayed behind to try to warn them.
That was how it must have been.
Frank's article in the Visitor said that some of the people in the distant farms had saved themselves by hiding in root cellars or in nearby woods. The Indians were in too much of a hurry to get to Victor to bother searching carefully. One family, the Flemings, had ridden to the shut-down lead mine. Some Indians pursued them to the mine but didn't follow them in. The Flemings hid so deep in the mine they had trouble finding their way out again, but they did survive.
But one person had neither hidden nor been killed:
While the body of the Reverend Philip Hale, D.D., was found in the burnt wreckage of his house, his daughter, Miss Nancy Hale, has not been found. It is feared Miss Hale may have been kidnapped by the Indians. Both the church and the house Reverend Hale built on the prairie were burned down.
As Raoul read aloud the list of the dead, he thought of Nancy and then of his sister
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