Savage Abandon Read online

  Savage Abandon

  Cassie Edwards

  With much love and pride,

  I am dedicating Savage Abandon

  To my son, Brian Edwards.

  I also dedicate this book to a very special young lady,

  Tiffany Schrock.

  Love,

  Mom

  We stand together, hand in hand,

  Holding on to what’s left of our land.

  Our souls are bound, our hearts entwined,

  Who would have thought I’d make you mine.

  I know we have something far more,

  Than anyone has ever heard of before.

  You’re my lover, my soul mate,

  The very air I breathe.

  We’ll be together for now,

  Through eternity.

  By Diane Collett, Poet

  A WARRIOR’S VOW

  “But…I…am your captive,” Mia blurted out, stunned at his suggestion. “How can you help me feel less lonely? Why should you care?”

  Wolf Hawk badly wanted to reach out and touch her face, which had become flushed. “Just trust that I do care and I will not allow any harm to come your way while you are with me and my people. Did I not feed you well? Are you not in a safe place with comforts all around you? Is not the fire warm against your flesh?”

  “Yes, you did all of those things for me, yet…I… am still a captive,” Mia said, slowly lowering her eyes. “That word…captive. It fills me with dread.”

  He reached over and dared to place his hand beneath her chin.

  Slowly he lifted it so that her eyes were level with his.

  “You are not a true captive,” he said.

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  A Warrior’s Vow

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Praise

  Also By Cassie Edwards

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Come quickly—as soon as

  these blossoms open,

  they fall.

  This world exists

  as a sheen of dew on flowers.

  —Izumi Shikibu

  Minnesota—l840.

  May, Wahbegoone-geezis, The Moon of the Flowers.

  Spring had awakened across the land, giving rise to the lush blossoms of dogwood and redbud. They gave off no scent, but filled the days with their beauty, as did the forsythia bushes dotting the countryside with their bright yellow flowers.

  Bees were busy at work, almost as busy as several small Winnebago girls who giggled and ran through the forest in search of the tiny violets that brightened the forest floor with their lovely purple faces.

  When they finally found a huge cluster, they fell to their knees beside them and gently, carefully, plucked several from the earth to take back home to their mothers. The women would enjoy the flowers while doing the daily chores that all Winnebago mothers carried out each day with love and dedication.

  Their hands filled with purple heaven, the girls turned back in the direction of their people’s village of one hundred tepees. The village had been established beside the Rush River, near enough for washing and drawing water, yet far enough for safety should the spring rains flood the river over its banks.

  Sitting in the midst of the river was an island huddled in mystery. A lazy fog hung low over it at most times, even now making Shadow Island scarcely visible to the girls, who looked occasionally at it, but were not at all afraid of its mystery.

  They knew who lived on that island.

  Talking Bird.

  Like everyone who knew him, they adored the old man.

  Talking Bird was the Winnebago people’s ancient Shaman, who knew everything about everything.

  But rarely did he leave the island.

  Those who were in need of his caring touch and kind words were taken to him by canoe.

  He was a man who had the skill to cure most ailments.

  Rarely had his Bird Clan witnessed him at a loss as to what to do for anything that ailed their people.

  The girls ran onward until they came into the village.

  Each hurried to her separate home. They were anxious to give their tiny blessings to their mothers on this most beautiful of mornings.

  Not far away, a huge hawk flew above the Rush River, soaring gracefully, peacefully, its bold eyes never missing the movements down below, nor the sounds that came from the island it was circling over.

  Despite its watchful, knowing eyes, the hawk could not see through the foggy mist that it was now moving into, not until it was finally on land, standing amid a clearing of willows.

  Suddenly a wolf appeared where the hawk had just stood. Powerfully muscled, it bound away into the forest and stopped near a large tepee where smoke spiraled lazily from the hole at the apex of the lodge.

  As the wolf ventured onward toward the tepee, it transformed into the powerfully muscled and handsome Winnebago chief known to his people by the name Wolf Hawk. He was a man of twenty-five winters, a chief of well-balanced temper who was not easily provoked.

  Clothed only in a breechclout and moccasins, his sleek black hair hanging long past his waist, Wolf Hawk stepped inside the lodge. He stopped there and gazed with love and devotion at his people’s Shaman, whom he was proud to claim as his beloved grandfather.

  Talking Bird sat huddled beneath a blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. He was gazing into the lodge fire that had been built in the middle of the tepee.

  There was no sound except for the popping and crackling of the fire and some slight wheezing as Wolf Hawk’s elderly grandfather clutched his blanket more closely around himself.

  He was a wrinkled, shrunken man, but his dark eyes were still brilliant and alive and filled with the wisdom he had gathered during his one hundred winters of life.

  Talking Bird was known by all for his wisdom and kindness. He was always interested in the problems of his people. To Wolf Hawk, his grandfather was the best example of what a leader should be.

  His grandfather had been like a parent to Wolf Hawk when his father was so deeply immersed in his duties as chief that he could not take time to spend with his son.

  Ho, yes, Wolf Hawk and his grandfather had become kindred spirits. Talking Bird had taught Wolf Hawk everything he knew about animals, plants, and what was required of a man.

  Awed by his grandfather’s vast store of knowledge, Wolf Hawk always loved to sit with him, savoring his words. Wolf Hawk knew he would never forget the insights Talking Bird had shared with him. They were the foundation of his life and would remain with him always.

  Talking Bird sensed his grandson’s presence. He looked slowly up at Wolf Hawk.

  “Ho, Grandson,” he said, his voice fil
led with love and respect.

  He patted the blankets that were spread before the fire, then gestured with his bony, long-fingered hand toward Wolf Hawk.

  “Come,” he said, in his gentle way of speaking. “Sit beside me. Tell me what has brought you to your grandfather’s lodge today.”

  Wolf Hawk knelt and embraced his grandfather, then smiled and sat beside him. “I have not come today for any specific reason,” he said in a voice that was rich and deep. “I came only to be with you, and to listen to your wisdom. I must confess to you that I have been restless of late.”

  For a moment, Talking Bird just gazed quietly at Wolf Hawk. He was proud to claim this man as his grandson. Wolf Hawk was a man of great dignity. He was tall and strong, a warrior loved and admired by all who knew him.

  His face was handsomely sculpted. He had midnight dark eyes, and in them was usually an expression of gentle peace. But not today. Today Talking Bird could see the uneasy restlessness that his grandson had mentioned.

  The Shaman looked more intently at his grandson. “You have confided in me that you are eager to take a wife, but can find none of the clan’s maidens who suit you. Is that what troubles you?”

  “No, Grandfather,” Wolf Hawk said tightly. “It is more than that. I fear that the peace our people have found here by the Rush River cannot continue undisturbed. We have found such contentment in this refuge, but if white people discover it, I believe they will try to take it from us.”

  “Whites are always ready to take,” Talking Bird said flatly. “It is a fact that we must always guard against the threat of white eyes.”

  “Perhaps I have not treated this concern of mine seriously enough. Our people have had no trouble from whites since we moved our homes far from the rest of the Winnebago clans, who continue to be harassed by the white man’s government,” Wolf Hawk said. “Perhaps I have let our comfortable lives fool me into believing it will be the same forever. But we both know what can happen when the white eyes take advantage of our trust. My father trusted too much and because he did, several of our people died. He and my mother now lie in the ground, because he believed the promises of people with white skin.”

  “Ho, under your father’s leadership many died, but we still survive as a clan, my grandson,” Talking Bird said thickly. “Just remember that our Earthmaker, our Great Spirit, made us all strong. Each of us has been given his own duties. We both, you and I, have been blessed. Earthmaker placed me in charge of medicine. You have been put in charge of our people, and you have proven yourself worthy of being their leader. We must remember these things, Grandson. Always.”

  “I always listen well to your wisdom and use it daily,” Wolf Hawk said, humbled by his grandfather’s knowledge and caring. “Thank you for it.”

  “Grandson,” Talking Bird said. He reached out a hand and gently touched Wolf Hawk’s smooth, copper cheek. “You have always found the good in all things and so shall you continue to do. You are admired by those who know you for walking the path of truth and honor.”

  “Grandfather, you are everything that is good on this earth,” Wolf Hawk said as Talking Bird drew his hand back. “I cherish your blessings.”

  And Wolf Hawk did cherish everything about his grandfather. The old Shaman, whose life had been devoted to the supernatural, had given Wolf Hawk the power to fly as a hawk, and to walk on all fours as a wolf.

  Wolf Hawk’s people had learned from the death of Wolf Hawk’s father that their Winnebago people must depend on things that others did not. They needed mystic power to keep whites away.

  Wolf Hawk knew that in his grandfather’s younger years, he could also fly as a bird and talk with wolves in his own wolf form, but age had gradually stolen those powers from him.

  When Wolf Hawk became chief of their Bird Clan after the death of his father, Talking Bird saw that it was time to share his mystic knowledge with his grandson. He had never done so with his own son, who had disagreed with him over so many things.

  Talking Bird had given his grandson the same understanding of the supernatural as Talking Bird had been given by his own grandfather, oh, so long ago.

  Wolf Hawk had learned from his grandfather that the spirits, both good and bad, were always at work. Indeed, they controlled the destiny of man.

  As Wolf Hawk continued to think deeply, his grandfather was lost in his own thoughts. He was again admiring this young man whom Talking Bird had successfully shaped into a chief who was honest, just and wise. There was no man, woman or child, who ever doubted his grandson’s wisdom.

  Ho, his grandson was a man of charisma, and with his rippling muscles and aquiline nose, all women found him handsome.

  His grandson would find a woman, and soon. Then his restlessness would disappear and Talking Bird would be happy for his grandson.

  “My duties await me, Grandfather,” Wolf Hawk said, slowly rising. “Wa-do, thank you, for your time and shared wisdom today. I will return again soon to sit and talk with you.”

  Talking Bird moved slowly to his feet, a bony old hand still holding the blanket in place around his shoulders. He walked outside with Wolf Hawk. They embraced, then Talking Bird smiled as Wolf Hawk transformed himself into a hawk and flew toward his home.

  As Wolf Hawk soared over the river, his eyes scanned the land closest to his village.

  When he saw nothing awry, he landed some yards from his lodge, where no one could observe him, then transformed himself quickly into his human form.

  His long hair fluttered over the straightness of his bare back, and his breechclout flapped with each step he took as he walked into the village.

  He stopped and watched his people as they went about their daily activities. He could see peace and happiness in their eyes, and laughed softly when several little girls ran up to him, their dark eyes gazing up into his.

  “My chief, we found many violets in the forest today for our mothers,” one little girl said, her tiny face flushed with excitement. “They now stand in water in our lodges.”

  “It is good that you show your mothers your love by taking them flowers to fill your homes with sunshine,” Wolf Hawk said. He patted the child who’d spoken to him gently on the top of her head.

  Then he suddenly remembered the uneasiness that had been with him of late.

  He dropped to his haunches and gathered the children around him. “But always remember that it is not best to wander far from your homes,” he cautioned. “Although we have not seen any reason for concern, we must never take our safety for granted. Play amid the circle of our lodges unless you have an adult with you.”

  He hated seeing the children’s smiles turn into wondering frowns, for he did not enjoy bringing doubt into their hearts. But he did know that their world was a dangerous place. He knew that one must never take whites for granted.

  They had too often tricked the red man!

  “Your fathers and your chief will keep you safe always,” he reassured them with a smile. “Now go. Enjoy your games. Soon it will be time to return to your lodges for the noon meal. I smell food cooking even now over your mothers’ lodge fires.”

  Squealing, the girls ran from him, and soon young braves joined them.

  Wolf Hawk watched, glad that they seemed to have heeded his warnings, as they all joined together and began playing a game of tag, for none of the children ventured outside the lodge circle.

  He stood and gazed with the eyes of a hawk past the tepees, still seeing nothing out of place. Nonetheless, he knew that he must have a meeting with his warriors to warn them of his intuition. Perhaps if there were problems awaiting him and his people, they could still be avoided.

  Chapter Two

  When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;

  So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

  So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

  —William Shakespeare

  Water splashed like sparkling crystal in the wake of the scow as it worked its way up the Rush River, toward S
t. Louis.

  Mia Collins stood on the deck with her father and the man hired to help row the scow. She was eighteen years of age, petite, with long auburn hair, and she was wearing a comfortable full-length cotton dress.

  She stood back away from the men so that she wouldn’t be in the way of the long oars that moved the scow through the river.

  She was enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on her pretty round face as her luminous green eyes took in the sights along the riverbank.

  She loved to see the occasional deer dipping its nose into the water for a refreshing drink, or a mother opossum carrying its babies on its back.

  She loved to smell the scent of the wildflowers that dotted the land, as well as the cedar aroma coming from the towering trees that intermingled with oaks and elms in the shadowy forest.

  She and her mother and father had waited to wander once again along the river in their scow, until the warmer weather of spring. Her father had longed for this journey all winter when he felt cooped up either at home, or working on the ships that he helped build for a huge company in St. Louis.

  But this spring, the trip downriver was not the same as before. After traveling some distance in the scow, her father had said they must turn back.

  He had confided in his wife and daughter about pains that he’d been feeling in his chest. He feared a heart attack was imminent.

  They had turned the scow back in the direction of St. Louis, where their home had been locked up until their return. They were in the habit of spending the later months of the summer there when it got too hot to live on the scow.

  Mia looked slowly around her now, at the bargelike conveyance on which her family had lived during these past weeks. It was built of logs, lashed together to provide a deck where a little cabin had been built. Here they could take shelter if there were storms and here their provisions were stored away from the elements.

  They traveled by day and spent the nights beside a campfire near the river, while her father’s assistant boatman slept aboard the scow, which was tied up near them at the embankment.