WINTER
Chapter 11
It snowed for three days straight, the heavy, wet snow that allowed no travel of any kind in it. Mingo bundled up as best he could, and trudged through the towering snow banks. His keen sense of direction was his only friend as he made his way through the blinding white death. Halfway was a cave where he stopped for the night, but the wet snow made it impossible to build a fire. He was out of the wind, but not out of the cold. It was good that he had taken Cincinnatus' snowshoes with him.
When he finally reached the outer borders of the Choctaw camp, two of their scouts found him. "I must see Chief Standing Bear right away," he said. The two braves helped him back to their village.
After telling Chief Standing Bear about the people in Boonesborough the Cherokee collapsed from exhaustion and exposure to the elements. Frost bite had begun to set in on his fingers and toes. His bronzed face was wind burned and chapped and his clothes were soaked from the wet snow he had struggled through.
"Take him to our lodge." the Chief told his wife, Wildflower. The two scouts carried the sick man to the home of their Chief. Inside, the floor was covered with bearskins and a warm fire was burning.
Wildflower had married her husband when she was a maiden of sixteen years.. That was thirty-five years ago and she was still a very beautiful woman. Her hair was now gray, but still vibrant. She had doctored this Cherokee warrior before and now she would do it again.
Mingo was a man in danger of dying from the trip he had undertaken. Even his long, dark eyelashes had frozen ice crystals on them. The raven locks that reached past his shoulders began to thaw as they laid him close to the fire. Wildflower instructed the two scouts to get more fire wood. "Much more wood," she told them.
Songbird was at her side.
The young Choctaw woman looked at the handsome man she loved, now weak, and cold, and very near death. Tears streamed down her face.
"You must be strong for him," her mother told her. "He will get his strength from you."
They removed his coat and shirt and covered him with two heavy elk skin blankets. "Bring, my son, Running Deer," Wildflower told the scouts when they came back loaded with firewood.
Trembling from the frigid journey he had undertaken, Mingo's face had no color. His body, arms and legs were like ice. Delirium led to mumblings about his mother and brother, and a fever had set in.
"I shot Tara Mingo, Daniel, and buried him…..and sang their death songs.." his face was wet with his own tears as he rambled incoherently.
Running Deer had come and gone, doing as his mother asked.
Songbird quivered as she held Mingo's icy hands in hers, stroking each finger to rid them of frostbite. She wanted to hear his laugh as only she could make him laugh.
But he was quiet and still.
All night Songbird and her mother stayed at his side, only once did he open his eyes. When he saw Songbird, he smiled weakly. First he was hot then cold, his body shook and beads of sweat shone on his forehead His lips were blue.
"I am so cold," he whispered and closed his eyes again.
Wildflower managed to get only a small amount of broth between his lips in the hours since he had collapsed. The older woman knew of the deep love between Mingo and her daughter. She also knew what would get warmth back into his body. Wildflower nodded to her beautiful daughter, then left, making sure the door flap to the lodge was closed and tied.
No one else would enter. They would be alone.
Songbird watched as Mingo stirred and turned on his side, struggling to get the blankets over his shoulders and still he trembled. It hurt to see the warrior she loved in such distress.
His pain was hers.
The wind howled outside as she untied the laces that held together the buckskin dress she wore. It quietly fell off her shoulders to the floor. Wearing only her long, thin winter undergarment, she slipped under the blankets and lay next to him. Her body was as close to his as it could be.
She gently massaged his shoulder, pressed up against his strong back and let her hand lay across his chest. His heartbeat was slow from the exposure to the cold But as she lay beside him she felt him relax. His labored respiration lessened and the trembling of his body slowed.
Then he slept soundly, as did she, waking only to be certain he was still breathing.
The raging snows subsided over the next several hours and the winds no longer shook the sides of the lodge. Mingo woke, clear-headed, weak, but with no fever and the burning cold in his body was gone.
How long he had been unconscious he wasn't sure.
The fire in his toes and fingers was gone and warmth had come back to his body. The last thing he remembered was collapsing in Standing Bear's arms, frozen and dying of exposure. He had made it to the Choctaw village; now he wondered if they were able to help the starving people of Boonesborough.
Mingo looked around to get his bearings. He recognized Chief Standing Bear's lodge. The heavy blanket that covered him felt good. Then something under the covers moved beside him.
Something small and fragile, and alive.
His dark eyes glimmered in caring when he saw her. Now he knew how his life had been saved. His Songbird shared the warmth of her body with him. The beauty of her next to him filled an emptiness of long-standing. Her head lay on his chest. He put his arm around her and pulled her in closer.
Gazing deeply into her now open eyes, "I wish I could wake up like this every morning," he said weakly. They were the first words he had spoken since his mission of hope that almost took his life.
"It is but one question away," she whispered. Then he felt her tears on his chest..
"What is this?" he said wiping them from her face.
"I thought I had lost you forever," she cried.
Mingo smiled at her.
"Your warmth saved my life," he kissed her. "I remember you and your mother.."
"She was here, but she left us alone. It was her idea that I lay beside you. You mumble in your sleep you know," Songbird told him.
"I did? What did I mumble about?"
She snuggled even closer to him. "Other women."
Mingo lifted his head, "Other women?"
"Rebecca, Jemima?" she teased him.
He laid his head back down. The touch of her hand on his face warmed him even more.
"You have loved no other woman?"
A faraway thought lasted only a moment, for him. "In another place, another time, and another world," he murmured. "Now all I want is you close to me. Always this close to me."
"You need some food to get your strength back," and she started to get up.
The touch of her leg to his made him take notice of what he was wearing under their blanket--or what he wasn't wearing. His eyes squinted in dismay.
"I am wearing a breech-cloth," he said.
"Yes," she answered, her playful eyes sparkled.
"I do not wear breech-cloths; I do not like breech-cloths, " he informed her.
She pressed in to him. "Your pants were soaking wet and shredded. We had to put something on you."
A chill went through him. "We?" his voice cracked at the thought of she and her mother undressing him.
"The breech-cloth is Running Deer's," she assured him.
"Running Deer's?"
"Yes."
"And did he?" the Cherokee asked.
"Yes, he put it on you," she replied.
His sigh filled the lodge as he wiggled around under the blankets.
"I do not like it," he exclaimed.
Her eyes sparkled again. " I can help you out of it if you like."
He scowled at her. "You are a vixen. I am a sick man."
Her hand went to his chest; where there was a strong and steady heartbeat.
"And I will take care of you, forever and always." she whispered in his ear.
Mingo pulled the blanket up over them and took her hands in his.
"You know in Cherokee belief, when a man and a woman share a blanket, it means they are very close to being married."
Songbird looked into his eyes. "Are you, Mingo, my brave warrior, asking me to be your wife?"
He sat up, letting the blanket fall off his broad shoulders. Songbird sat up beside him. He held her close to him, and whispered, "Forever and always."
"When?"
"When next the wildflowers of summer bloom in your meadow," he answered.
And they kissed.
He laid back down still weak, but stronger now, than when her father's scouts brought him to their camp. Songbird began to get up, but he would not let go of her.
"You have not eaten for days, you need some food," she told him.
"All I need, all I want is you here beside me, for the rest of my life."
She melted back into his embrace. Their eyes closed as the winter winds began to howl once more outside the lodge.
Mingo awoke to a cold breeze wafting across his bare arms. The opening flap to the lodge closed quickly. A welcome aroma and warmth filled the inside. Someone had come in, built up the fire and left something that smelled wonderful to the hungry man.
What day it was, what time it was, he still had no idea and had no interest in knowing.
He looked over and saw Songbird still sleeping beside him. With his fingers, he brushed back the dark locks of hair that covered her face. Her eyes were closed, but he saw her tiny nose wrinkle at the smell of the food.
He knew she was pretending to be asleep.
Gently, Mingo put his finger on her nose. " I think you are awake, little one. Your nose is wrinkling like the rabbit who waits to see if the carrot is going to come to her, or if she must go to the carrot."
She smiled, opened her eyes and took in the aroma, "It is my mother's venison broth." Songbird sat up quickly, pulled her hair around to her back and began to stand up. "I will get some for you."
By the fire was a large covered container and two small cups made out of dried gourds.
Mingo tried to get up, but Songbird stopped him. She stood, with her hands on her hips. Once more she looked like that other woman with the red hair he has seen stand in the very same determined way many times before.
"If you do not stay in bed," Songbird spoke, " I will have to tell Rebecca there will be no more Irish stew and no more molasses cookies for you."
The Cherokee pursed his lips, "You would not do that to me, would you?"
Her stalwart stance and general-like glare answered his question. He lowered himself back down onto the blanket, hiding the grin on his face from her.
She knelt down beside him,
"You need to stay in bed, and rest some more. You were so weak when they brought you here. Do you remember?"
Mingo nodded, " I remember being so cold, that my fingers and toes were numb," he trembled at the memory of it. "I remember waking up once to see your face and your mother's behind you."
Songbird took the extra elk skin blanket that Wildflower had left and propped it up behind him, so he could sit up. Then she tucked the other blanket that covered his legs around his waist.
He snuggled in her care as she did so.
"And then I remember waking up the next time and you were close beside me under this blanket. Your warmth kept me from visiting the happy hunting ground.,
"The happy land, my people call it," Songbird said.
"Whatever it is called, I am not ready to go there. Not yet, not now," he reached up and kissed her on the cheek.
"And do you remember asking me to be your wife?"
The handsome Cherokee leaned back, stretching out on the blanket. He clasped his hands behind his head, deep in thought.
Her eyes did not leave him.
"Mmmmm no, I do not remember that. Was I delirious with fever?" the look of wonder on his visage masked his teasing
"Again," she gently slapped his bare chest. "You play with my deepest feelings."
Mingo raised up and sighed, "I am sorry, Songbird. I never meant to hurt you with my teasing."
He took the blanket from behind him, placed it around their shoulders and pulled her close as he had before.
In a gentle voice that called to her, he spoke.
"My precious Songbird, I wish for you to be my wife, forever and for always. To share the rest of our days close and warm as we share this blanket today. To raise a family and grow old together. Will you grant me that wish?"
The Choctaw maiden nodded with tears in her eyes, her voice failing her in the rapture of his words and the passion of his embrace. If there had been no blanket, the warmth of his arms around her would have been enough.
She had thrown back the pebble.
Songbird cleared her throat, composure not coming easy. She put the blanket behind him again so that he sat up comfortably.
"Now then you need some food, you have not eaten in such a long time."
Mingo rested his arms across his chest and with determination in his voice, asked, "You are not going to feed me that venison broth are you? A Cherokee warrior such as I would much rather have a venison steak."
Songbird dished up some of the broth in one of the cups, "Only I know just how strong a man you are even in your present weakened state, but this broth is the best thing for you right now."
"I am feeling very strong," he leered at her.
And she leered back at him.
"I know you are."
The beautiful maiden held out the cup of broth to him. "Do you want me to tell Wildflower you refused to drink her broth? Are you saying my mother does not know how to take care of a sick man?"
With a furrowed brow he took the steaming cup of broth and drank slowly. It had chunks of venison and carrots cut up in it. She snickered as she had gotten his goat once more. It tasted so good, he asked for a second. When he finished, Mingo leaned back on the soft fur of the blanket. Songbird knew she was right, the ordeal of his perilous journey had taken much out of him. Not everything out of him, but much.
She stood over him, still wearing her light winter undergarment. Her buckskin dress still on the floor of the lodge.
Mingo placed his hand on the blanket beside him, "Come rest with me, you are tired also. I know you did not sleep that first night they brought me to you."
Songbird slipped her dress on over her head. "I must see my mother and father. They will want to know how you are. I will come back later and let you know if Running Deer got the supplies to Boonesborough ."
Mingo put his hand out to her and she took it. "Thank you," he said. and closed his eyes in sleep.
Songbird bent down, put his arm across his chest and pulled the blanket up over him. Her lips touched his forehead. She stood and watched him sleep for a few moments before she left him alone.
"Thank you, Great Spirit, for saving my Cherokee warrior," she said as she opened the flap of the lodge to a burst of sunshine.
