"You'll regret it," he had told her. It was a clear warning. And yet there she was sneaking off again. But it was night. Did she think by bathing under the cover of night he wouldn't know? She obviously underestimated the frequency with which he studied her beautiful visage. Thomas sat at the campfire wondering what to do next. Should he follow her? Wait for her at camp and yell at her again? He had threatened to reveal her identity. How could he just not… what was that? John Smith slipped between the logs. Was that it then? The two of them sneaking off together? Thomas's heart filled with envy, but he waved it away. Surely John was leaving for something completely different altogether. And yet he could help but wonder.
Peering out of camp to watch John run the opposite direction of the creek, Thomas was not sure what to think. Suddenly a large hand pushed Thomas through the opening. "Follow him," directed the stern voice of Ratcliff.
"Yes Gove'na" was Thomas's immediate and automatic response.
"I want to know where he's sneaking off to."
"Yes sir." Why hadn't he just stayed by the campfire? Now he would have to report back to Ratcliff whatever John was doing. How could he lie? What if John was with Rebecca? She could be hanged.
"And if you happen to see any Indians, shoot them." Ratcliff tossed Thomas a gun, but all Thomas could think about was what he would tell Ratcliff when he returned. Hopefully Smith was doing something completely different altogether. "Oh and Thomas," the evil voice continued, to Thomas's dismay. "You've been a slip-shod sailor and a poor excuse for a soldier. Don't disappoint me again." With that the governor was gone and Thomas was left with no alternative but to follow John and pray Rebecca hadn't gone the same way.
Kokoum was becoming anxious. He should wait a little longer, but then he would be able to see his beautiful lover. Still the news from the morning worried him. War was on the horizon and he didn't want to see it come. He sat outside his wigwam sharpening a spear point, preparing for a war. If war came, he would have to use it. When war came. It was a natural thing to do, so he would not appear suspicious to be lurking outside so late. Really, he was waiting for the right time to leave.
"Kokoum." It was the voice of Nakoma. But, she never sought him out. Something must have been wrong.
"What is it?" He said. His worry clearly evident. Nakoma looked unsure. What could have possibly been wrong?
"It's Pocahontas." She continued hesitantly. An instinctual protectiveness fell over Kokoum. Had her lover done something to harm her? If so, it would be partly his fault. Worried, he stood to face Nakoma.
"What's wrong? Is she alright?" he inquired.
"I think she's in trouble." Nakoma admitted. Then something must have gone wrong. His present worries seemed to build on top of each other as he tried to remain calm and listen to Nakoma's explanation.
Rebecca had never been the first one to the clearing. Maybe Kokoum was hiding from her like the first night, to see how she reacted. Minutes passed and Rebecca was sure that she was alone. Which way would he come from? How should she wait for him? Perhaps she could turn his own ways against him and hide in the brush. The thought of watching her unsuspecting lover waiting for her tickled her imagination and, giggling a little, she positioned herself comfortably out of sight.
There were footsteps. Someone running. Rebecca's heartbeat quickened with excitement. But that someone was not Kokoum. It was a woman speaking a language, seemingly to herself.
"Pocahontas," came a familiar voice. Rebecca stifled a gasp of surprise and terror. John Smith was here, in her clearing, with an Indian woman. So this was the girl he planned to betray.
"John." Replied the Indian woman. Suddenly Rebecca felt like she was intruding. What might they do here? What if they found her? But in the same instant she felt pity for the woman. The way she called John's name. She trusted him, just as Rebecca trusted Kokoum. And he was betraying her.
"Listen to me," John began. "My men are planning to attack your people." Rebecca's heart dropped in her chest. It was a lie. John was never planning to betray this woman. He loved her too. But how were they having a conversation… in English? "You've got to warn them." Rebecca's heart pounded in her chest. Then she had misinformed Kokoum. What if he had told the village? She needed to tell him immediately that she had been wrong. John Smith loved this woman. He was no enemy.
"Maybe it's not too late to stop this." The woman began, and Rebecca was surprised to hear her perfect English. "You have to come with me and talk to my father."
"Pocahontas talking isn't going to do any good. I already tried talking to my men." But that wasn't what Rebecca had heard. The men she had talked to had thought that John wanted to fight. "Everything about this land has them spooked."
Rebecca had heard enough. John was not lying to this woman. He was telling the truth. Her head began to spin and panic grew inside her. What could she do now? She ignored the voices in the clearing and tried to concentrate only on what she would do now. Kokoum was sure to be coming this way soon. What if they didn't move first? What would he do?
Silence in the clearing caught her attention. Had they left? No. They were kissing. They were kissing like two people were always meant to kiss. There was complete trust on behalf of both of them that while they were together nothing could go wrong. It was the same trust Rebecca felt when she was with Kokoum. As if the rest of the world ceased to exist, leaving the two enemies at peace with each other.
Thomas peeked through the leaves at the pair in the clearing. It was not Rebecca. She was safe.
Kokoum watched the white man kiss Pocahontas. He had never considered Pocahontas naïve. Yet here she was, trusting a man who was planning to betray her. His anger rose quickly as he watched her kiss him with such trust. How could anyone be so evil as to betray that trust? His anger was so great he couldn't keep it inside any longer. Rushing into the clearing he made his fury known in an earsplitting shriek of war.
Rebecca choked. Her body went cold and numb, shaking with the dawning of her understanding. Unable to breath, unable to move, unable to say anything to stop the horror before her eyes, she remained frozen, her eyes fixed on the horrific scene in her clearing.
Kokoum ran for the white man, this evil object of his rage and loathing. Knocking him to the ground he ignored Pocahontas's shriek of protestation. She didn't know what he knew. He pulled out his tomahawk and aimed for his enemy. Explaining could come afterwards.
Suddenly he was on his back. This white man was skilled. But he was better. He pulled out his knife and charged the ugly, wicked man once more. Wrestling with this enemy, Kokoum strived to plunge his knife into the neck. Pocahontas continued to yell and tried to pull Kokoum away from her betrayer. Impatiently he cast her aside.
Almost there.
His gun was loaded and Thomas lifted it to his eyes. Finally he would repay John for saving his life. Finally he would kill the savage who had threatened his angel. Finally, he would be a hero.
A gunshot pierced the air.
All movement ceased.
The echo of surprise rang in her ears and her heartbeat hammered painfully in her chest. Who had a gun? He was falling. Her lover. Kokoum. He was falling. He grabbed the necklace of the woman who had tried so desperately to stop him as he fell toward the water. He didn't move. Her lover. Kokoum. He didn't move. He was frozen, as she was, in time, in space, on the ground, in the water. And the woman fell to the ground beside him. Rebecca's heart stopped. Her body was a statue in the bushes. She had lost all ability to move.
Three words were all she heard. "You killed him." Thomas was in the clearing and Rebecca understood. He was gone. She was empty. A whole opened up inside her and she doubled over retching. She had nothing inside her. Literally. As her body tried to dispel the contents of her empty stomach, Rebecca felt hot trails of water pouring from her eyes. Her eyes which would never again stare into two pebbles of black obsidian.
It was all her fault. She was the one who had told him about John. And she had been wrong. She was the reason Thomas had come into the woods. And he had only done what he thought was right. She was to blame. Her ears were ringing. Her throat and chest were throbbing. Her stomach squeezed itself trying to give up the empty, gaping hole inside to the ground. It wouldn't come.
There were men in the clearing. They were carrying Kokoum. Already they were out of the clearing. They were taking him away. No! She couldn't let them. She had to see him. She had to be sure. She had to say goodbye. Or else she would live her life always wondering. Somehow she had gotten to her feet. Her thick coat and inner torment made her clumsy as she ran toward the group of men. They saw her coming. Kokoum's face was toward her, and his eyes fluttered, just once. They connected with hers.
She didn't see the tomahawk crashing down toward her head, nor would she have blamed the man for trying to protect the group from the crazed white man running toward them. He couldn't have known.
Both sets of eyes glazed over, never to see again. But they had seen each other. If only for one last time.