Kekata assured me that he had a strong spirit, that he could pull though.
Strong smells filled the longhouse as Kekata puffed tobacco smoke from his long medicine pipe. I was allowed inside only because it had been decided that finally, my mother's gift had been passed down to me, and because I knew John better than anyone else. I had helped Kekata gather herbs from the forest, perform the rituals my mother taught me that made them holy and healing, and burn them in small bowls placed at strategic points around the lodge to purify the air and drive out evil spirits. While Kekata pounded the drums, I had recited sacred chants. Whatever was needed, I was more than happy to do. And at night, when he screamed and writhed and moaned from the pain and the fever dreams, I was there to wipe the sweat from his forehead, add another rabbit fur blanket, and pour cool spring water to his lips. His mouth was so dry. His eyes were so red.
And he never recognized me.
So as I sat beside him once more, I held his hand in mine and gently massaged his fingers. Kekata and I had been able to prevent blood poisoning and other immediate dangers, but the bullet that hit him had shattered his pelvis, and we were unable to properly extract the bone fragments with our instruments. His wound had slightly healed over, but he needed more surgery, and medicines that we couldn't give him. It was clear that if he was going to have a full recovery and regain his full ability to walk, he needed to go back across the sea, to London. And I knew that he might never be able to come back.
"Pocahontas. Pocahontas." Was he finally awake? No, still dreaming, but a calm dream, a blissful one, not one of the nightmares that had plagued his sleep every night for the past two weeks. For the first time in as long, a small smile appeared on his lips.
"…brought you a horse. Teach you to…ride." Was he seeing the same image I was—side by side, racing over meadows on the backs of those magnificent animals he had told me he loved?
"Tell me again about—Sly Fox…and…the little boy." And he had been as a little boy, eagerly listening to the fables that had fascinated me ever since I was young. Their simplicity held such truth. Did he realize that as well?
"Pocahontas!" He jerked up, then twisted in pain. In one motion, I was standing over him and pressing his shoulders back down. He looked up at me like a lost child, separated from his home or his best friend. "Wasn't I just talking to you?" His voice came from far away, and his eyes were pulled back from the depths of his consciousness as he tried to focus.
"No…you were asleep. Dreaming. I heard you talking." He looked embarrassed, then panic flooded his face as he looked down at his bandages and up at the sadness that was still in my eyes.
"Oh God, Pocahontas, your father! Is he—I tried to jump in front of him, but—"
Once more I pressed his shoulders back, but he was reluctant to close his eyes and just listen.
"My father is fine. He—and I—think you are one of the bravest men to cross our path. He says that a man who lays down his life for another is worthy of more respect even than a chief." Even now I was shocked at the enormity of the statement. I remembered when he had spoken it to me.
"Daughter, I am sorry for doubting you. A man who would risk his life to save another is held higher than any man, even the chief. You may tell him that, if he so wishes, he may become a part of our people." And we hugged, like we had not done in so long, his embrace letting me know that I had finally made a choice that truly brought him pride.
A thoughtful look came into John's eyes, the look that I had seen so many times, the one that meant he was working out a new idea that might change everything.
"Does he respect me enough to make me his son-in-law?"
Once again, I was losing myself in his blue, blue eyes, hope reflected in them so plainly, as I am sure joy was reflected in mine. Then I remembered the unavoidable truth, and my joy faded, slowly, into sorrow. Now the hope was unbearable to look at, and I averted my gaze. He mistook it for uncertainty—he had always seemed so incredulous that I could feel fully the same about him as he did about me.
"Pocahontas, I know we haven't known each other for very long. And I know that I am very ignorant in the ways of your people, certainly unworthy of the chief's daughter. But I've finally found a place I could call home, and you—"
I could listen no longer. "John, your men are coming to take you."
"Take me where? To Jamestown?" He still did not see what this had to do with his proposal.
"To England. You must have an English doctor. Kekata and I have tried, but…" Pocahontas, you have to go on.
"If you stay here, you may not live. This weapon that you have brought with you—the gun—we are not familiar with its workings, nor what evil power it holds. Even if you did not die, you might be crippled for the rest of your life. So you must go. I know you could not live without being able to explore, having to use a cane to get around…"
His fists clenched, face tightened into a grimace, and his teeth gnashed together. His whole body shook once, twice, five times. But it was his sudden, gasping intake of breath that told me he was silently sobbing.
"No, no, no! John!" I flung my arms around his shoulders, but he turned his face away from me. Minutes passed, and I still remember that he smelled like cinnamon—I had given some to Kekata to use in each ritual bath. His body continued to shake, and I wished that there was a salve I could rub or a tea I could brew that would take away this kind of pain. It may have been hours, it may have been minutes, but it seemed like we had always been lying like this and would always be lying like this, till finally he lie still.
"When are they coming?" All traces of hope were now gone from his face, and for the first time he looked as lost as I had been when my mother died.
"Three days from now. Any later, and there will be too many storms, and sailing would be dangerous."
Silence. Both of our minds wandered, and I was thinking of what I could give him to make his journey somewhat easier, some gift to remember me by, when he pulled me towards him and desperately caught my lips with his.
Our first kiss in the glade had been soft and cool, like swimming in an icy pond on a hot day. But now he was holding me so tightly, I could barely move. I could only feel the dryness of his tongue, the tug of his fingers as they glided through my hair, the hardness of his shirt buttons digging into my skin. Soon he was trailing kisses down my jawline and neck, rubbing my shoulders in smooth circles until he gasped, and I saw him grasp his side. Gently, I reached around and lifted his other hand from my back.
"John, we can't have you tearing your stitches over this." Despite his pain, he grinned. "You need to sleep. Sleep is when the body heals itself. I'll be here in the morning. Besides, such kisses are improper between…between…" The words stuck in my throat.
"Between unmarried people. I know, and I'm so sorry. I never should have held you like that, I probably even hurt you." He paused. "I haven't taken away your queenly honor, have I? Forgive me, Your Highness, I just couldn't resist you."
When we both laughed out loud at that, I knew that somehow, sometime in the future, he'd once again be the John Smith I'd first met, arms open to take in the world.
"Pocahontas, will you be there when the ship sails?" As if he had to ask!
"Of course I will!" I said, a little over-emphatically and somewhat…reprovingly. "Oh, I didn't mean it that way—"
"No, I should have learned by now not to cross your temper." Somehow, he understood me better than anyone in my village, despite them all having known me for my entire life. I probably wouldn't ever meet anyone like him again, not that I'd want to.
"What I meant to say was…I have a gift for you. For you and all of your men." I expected him to try to get me to tell what it was, but his eyes were heavy lidded with sleep, and he merely nodded. Softly I began to sing the lullaby with the words I had used when we first met, and I wished that the night would never end.
A/N: The movie set-up "He has to go back to England or he'll die" was always rather annoying to me-Native American medicine was certainly much more advanced at that point. Remember, surgeons in Europe hadn't even begun to really sterilize their instruments until the late 1800's I believe. Definitely not 1607. But since it is the main plot point of the end of the story, I tried to focus more on his ability to walk. Anyway, if you've been reading, please review!