SUMMER

Chapter 3

It was a good day's walk from Boonesborough to the village of the Choctaw. Daniel was right as usual; Mingo was planning to stop at Wild Geese Lake and catch some trout. For Mingo, trout was right at the top of the list with Rebecca's Irish stew and her molasses cookies.

The gift for Chief Standing Bear was safely stowed in his pack. Mingo knew he would be pleased. He also knew that Standing Bear was a wise leader, as was Chief Menewa of the Cherokee. The two elder Indians realized that to survive and keep their land, they had to learn to live in peace, and share the bounty of the land with the white man. Representing both the white man and the Cherokee, Mingo was honored to sit in council with the chief of the Choctaw.

Many and swift were his steps since he had left his lodge at first light. Now his stomach was telling him he should have eaten something before he left. He hoped to be dining on trout at mid-day.

Wild Geese Lake looked as it always did, calm and peaceful. It was a halfway stopping point between Boonesborough and the Choctaw village. In less than an hour, Mingo had four big trout roasting over a fire. The Cherokee ate his fill and left the rest for the bear he had seen signs of on the trail.

"Eat hearty, u-do gv-ni-ge-yo-na." he spoke in his Cherokee tongue. "Eat hearty, brother black bear."

The sun was high overhead as he started back on his journey. He and Daniel could cover more ground in one day than most men. Their knowledge of the Kentucky wilderness and being in good physical condition saw to that. Mingo knew he would reach the land of the Choctaw by late afternoon--in time to see one of the Kentucky sunsets Daniel loved. Also in time to share the evening meal in the lodge of Standing Bear. He hoped he would be able to provide the main course for the Choctaw chief and his family.

Mingo kept an eye out for a good sized white-tail deer as he walked. It is a pleasant day, he thought. The closer he got to the village he noticed how thick and green the vegetation was; a great difference to the dry, brown vegetation he had left back at Boonesborough. The apple trees had a good yield of fruit as did the blackberry bushes. There was no evidence of a drought in the valley the Choctaw called their home.

A meadow of long-stemmed daisies waved in the soft summer breeze. Honeybees and hummingbirds made quick work of the sweet nectar they offered. In the midst of the wildflowers, Mingo's tall figure lurked, crouching down, out of sight. The barrel of his long rifle traced the steps of a buck as it meandered into a clearing.

"One more," the Cherokee whispered, his finger ready to squeeze the cold metal trigger.

Quickly the animal jerked its head and was gone, with one wave of his white tail.

"What…?" Mingo moved his finger away from the trigger and lowered his rifle. He looked around to see what had alerted the deer.

"It was I," a sound as soft as the breeze that was blowing through his long, black hair spoke to him.

A vision of beauty as he had never seen before. She was a young Choctaw woman, skin the color of the earth and long black hair like his. She held a bouquet of wildflowers in her hand.

"I am sorry," she said to him. "I did not see you hiding among the daisies." A playful smile adorned her face and her voice had a whimsical tone. "It is not a place where one often finds a Cherokee warrior."

Mingo was still down on one knee, holding his rifle. Standing up, he saw she came only to his chin. He also saw that her eyes never left him as he stood. And her face, had the slightest blush to it.

"I beg your pardon," his strong voice failing him for the moment. "I thought it was only I and the white-tail here in the meadow." As his gaze met hers, he felt straighter, taller, and bolder. 'Cherokee warrior'--those words never sounded so gallant as when they came from her lips.

For the first time in a very long time, a woman had her effect on him.

Her eyes were the color of the first buds of spring, a soft hazel green. Mingo wanted to put his arms around her shapely form at that very moment. The propriety of a gentleman would not allow it.

"Beautiful flowers," he remarked.

"Handsome rifle," she answered back.

Their words tumbled over each other's with the innocent emotion of love at first sight. They both laughed at their shyness.

"I have seen you at my father's fire," she said. "You are called Mingo. Your mother was Cherokee and your father, English."

He nodded, "You know much about me, but I know nothing about you. What do they call you?"

She offered her hand, and he took it.

"I am called Songbird."

"Songbird?" he queried.

Smiling she answered him, "When I was an infant my mother and father said I made little chirping sounds like a baby bird. My mother would sing to quiet me, but all it did was make me want to sing with her."

The maiden was enchanting. Mingo thought.

"Your father is Standing Bear, chief of the Choctaw and your mother is Wildflower. I see now where your beauty comes from." Mingo told her.

On her wrist, she wore a bracelet, a plain band of braided leather. Hanging from it was a single flat, shiny stone, black in color. He could not make out what was etched on it.

"What is this?" He still held on to her hand.

Songbird turned it over to reveal a small bird with its mouth wide open in song, carved in white on the black stone.

"Ahhhh, Songbird," he remarked. "She is also beautiful. Is this your handiwork?"

"My brother, Running Deer," she told him. "I cannot remember a time when he was not drawing images. On the ground, carving on trees, on our lodges, on the walls of caves. He finds these stones, polishes them and puts images on them."

"He is very talented, your brother," Mingo told her as he admired the stone…..as well as her hand.

It felt right, her hand in his. Together, they walked to the edge of the meadow with no idea of the time that had passed. A well-worn trail through the woods ahead of them led to the Choctaw camp.

"Would you come have a meal with us this night?" she asked him.

Mingo nodded toward the now empty meadow.

"The deer I was hunting was going to be a gift for your father's table tonight."

She hid her smile. "And I frightened it away. I am sorry."

"No matter." Mingo opened his pack. "Do you think this fine big gobbler will do just as well?"

Songbird leaned into him and whispered. "My father will not tell you this, but his teeth are not as strong or as many as when he was younger. The meat of the turkey will be much easier for him to chew than venison."

"Splendid," Mingo said and closed his pack.

Songbird smelled the bouquet of wildflowers in her hand. "They are for my mother. She has always loved flowers of all kinds." Songbird looked back at the meadow of many colors. "I am happiest when I am here," she told him and walked toward the trail.

As am I, after this day. Mingo thought, and followed close behind her.