Harvest Flower
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Chavon Powell
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Chapter 1
1812, Arizona Territory
Flaming arrows and screams of pain and death filled the air. The full moon glowing red, the color of blood, mocked the little girl hiding from the murderous Indians. Soon nothing would be left, and just like her family, she would die.
She lay still on her belly, her stick held tightly in her small hands. The leader sat on his horse not far away, and the little boy on his lap looked upset. He hid his fear and how upset he actually was.
A small black circle burned into his tan-skinned shoulder, still red from the branding. The boy was Indian, that much was clear. The little girl closed her eyes and tried to block out the screams.
Morning would come soon, and the warriors decided to leave. The little girl didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Her eyes glued shut as night broke into day.
***
The blue autumn skies blackened with billows of smoke early in the morning. No sounds of the birds filled the crisp air. Nothing moved, and the feelings of death and terror filled the early hours.
The sun refused to paint the sky with color. A lonely red-tailed hawk flew high above a small hunting party, leading them to a terrible place that once rang with the sounds of white man’s tools. The smell of burned bodies and green wood smoke hung heavy around them.
The hawk’s screech caught Chief Red Feather’s eye. He led the hunting party toward the clearing where a family of white people called home.
The smoke grew thicker as it spread through the trees, lingering along the wooded path. They rode into the clearing to find the newly finished cabin burned to the ground, the air around them thick with smoke and ash. Flames still sputtered and licked toward the sky in the remains of the cabin’s location.
A woman in front of the cabin lay sprawled on the ground, her clothes ripped and bloody, her scalp missing.
Red Feather rode around the burning pile to the wagon that was lying upside down. A man’s body was bound to the wagon wheel, and burned arrows protruded from his chest and sides, his scalp also missing.
Red Feather continued around, searching for the children he knew the man and woman had. With a flick of his wrist, two warriors rode out to the field behind the cabin. Red Feather rode to the tree line where the small creek flowed in the shadows of the autumn-kissed trees.
A pile of dried branches and stumps caught Red Feather’s attention. He looked at the men behind him and waved his hand.
The last two warriors halted their horses and waited. The family’s animals—two oxen—lay dead and mutilated just outside the small garden, the horse and milk cow missing. Red Feather approached the pile of branches, and he saw a small hand lying on the ground just behind it.
It was a small boy around six years old. He was dead; his eyes were glazed over, and a jagged cut split his throat. A few feet into the trees, another boy of ten years lay facedown in the leaves with an arrow in his back. The bucket of water he’d carried had spilled into the drying mud.
Red Feather’s heart dropped. The little girl was missing. He turned back to the pile of dead branches, and movement inside them caught his eye.
A dirty blue fabric shifted, and a small sniffle whispered in the still air. Red Feather dismounted and knelt closer to see more clearly. Her honey-brown eyes widened when they met his.
She held a long, pointed stick in her hands, her knuckles white from gripping it so tightly. Her flaming yellow hair fell around her shoulders in waves. She wasn’t much over seven years old.
Her wide eyes narrowed, making tears fall down her cheeks. Her lips compressed as she reared back and thrust forward with the long stick. Red Feather grunted as the stick hit him in the shoulder, pushing him slightly back.
His warriors chuckled behind him, all four now gathered around watching. The small girl let out a growl like an injured baby wildcat. Her jabs with the stick were a brave but pitiful attempt at keeping the grown man at bay.
Red Feather reached his hand in, grabbing the stick, but she let it go and scrambled out of his reach. He leaned in, holding out his hand for her, and she darted out of the tangled branches. He tried to grab her and darted for her, but she ran. She ran as fast as she could.
Her heart pounded as she dashed across the small creek just down the path. The light footsteps behind her caught up quickly. A scream stuck in her throat as a large suntanned arm caught her around her waist.
She held her breath as he turned her to look at him. Her wild eyes flashed like the wild kittens caught in rabbit snares.
“You are safe, little one. I will not hurt you. You run like a small rabbit. It’s good to have spirit inside.” He pulled her to his chest when tears started to fall silently down her cheeks. “I will take you as my daughter. You will live in my hut. My Moon Stream will cry no more for a daughter I cannot give.”
Red Feather’s warriors rode up, leading his horse. After he mounted and the little girl was secured on his lap, they began the journey home. The steady beat of the horses’ hooves echoed in her heart, and she fell asleep, the fear slowly leaving her tiny body with each step.
Moon Stream waited for her husband to return. Their son, Rising Bear, waited with her. He was now old enough to start setting traps and hunting in nearby areas.
Today, he waited for lessons on how to trap rabbits. He sat watching the trail, his newly made snare gripped tightly in hand.
Moon Stream gasped as Red Feather came into view. He looked hunched over with a tightly wrapped bundle held tightly to his chest. The light grew brighter, revealing a little sleeping white girl on his lap.
Tears welled up in her eyes. As they came closer, the warriors behind Red Feather split off, joining their families and friends.
Red Feather dismounted in front of his wife and son, cradling the girl to his chest. “The girl is ours now. Her family is no more,” he said as he carried her into the hut.
Moon Stream dried her eyes and softly stroked the girl’s hair as she lay on a bed of pelts. The strawberry-blonde of her hair glowed in the firelight. Moon Stream looked up at Red Feather and with a smile said, “She will be called Harvest Flower.”
Rising Bear knelt beside the girl with wide eyes. “She is injured? Where is her family, Father?”
Red Feather touched his head and then his chest. “She hurts inside. Her family lay dead in ashes around her while she guarded a pile of branches with a stick.”
He looked at Moon Stream. “Take care—she is wild with fear and hurt from people of our color, not our tribe. She knows little, and the family she once had treated her roughly. A gentle hand and strong spirit will tame our new little Harvest Flower.” He stood and touched Rising Bear on the shoulder before turning to leave.
Rising Bear followed quietly, but he stopped to take one last look at the pretty girl. Her honey-gold eyes flickered open to stare at him before turning wild with fear. Moon Stream held her down and started singing in soft tones.
Rising Bear left quickly, wanting to make the fear in her eyes go away.
Little Harvest Flower struggled for only a moment, the calmness of Moon Stream’s voice bringing her fears under control.
At night, Harvest Flower cried and screamed in her sleep. Her nightmares caused her to tremble and thrash while she slept. Rising Bear would cuddle her while Moon Stream sang softly to them both.
With the sun’s rays, she became closer to her new family, learning their ways and picking up their language quickly. Rising Bear didn’t mind her following him around the village. She would try to be invisible when others showed interest in her.
Harvest Flower tried to act tough and brave, her fear only showing in the depths of her eyes.
TEN YEARS LATER
Harvest Flower woke with a start, her eyes wild as she found Rising Bear hovering over her. He looked down at her with a chilling look. His face was too close to Harvest Flower’s.
She pushed him away, now realizing that her nap lasted way too long. Her hunting expedition was cut short when her bow shattered. Rising Bear didn’t move, and Harvest Flower tried once more to push him off. “Get off!”
Rising Bear quickly gathered himself. “You had another dream?”
Harvest Flower glared at him. “Do you have to ask?” She wanted to ask him why he was so close to her like he was going to kiss her. The look on his face when she woke made her even more uncomfortable. “Go away, I have things to do. I didn’t find anything to hunt this morning, and I’m not feeling very well.”
Rising Bear sat back and watched her for longer than Harvest Flower wanted before standing and walking away. The grassy bank in the clearing was the only place Harvest Flower felt the most comfortable for early day naps away from all the chores and other stuff women of the village did.
Harvest Flower sat alone, and looking at the water, decided to bathe away the nightmare and the unclean feeling on her skin. She just wanted peace, and her mind kept bringing that memory to the surface.
She needed to—no, wanted to—no, she would find a way to rid herself of the nightmares and, if possible, find the boy with the circle branded on his shoulder.
It was midsummer, and the air was sticky and hot. The trees were at their greenest, and summer flowers spread in blankets by the stream. The water was cool and clear, and the waterfall fell with a soft splashing sound.
It wasn’t a large waterfall, but it was perfect for bathing. Harvest Flower stood under it naked, combing her fingers through her hair. She bathed, not knowing she had company close by. She hummed a song from her childhood—a song sung to her every night after a bad dream.
She pushed away thoughts of flaming arrows and dark shadows. The water washed over her, clearing her mind and body.
Running Wolf watched as she ran her fingers through her long strawberry-blonde hair. It was the color of the harvest flower—golden with a copper-red shine. The falling water and her long hair hid her body from his view, but the outline was clear.
He’d watched her before in the woods playing with small animals and even a deer. To find her here was a surprise. Her full beauty was on display. His heart raced, and his hands tingled at the thought of running his hands through her beautiful hair of gold.
She tilted her head back, letting the water rush over her suntanned skin. She was not pale but was not dark-skinned. Her white blood showed in every way. Only her movements and clothes spoke of her tribe.
At heart, she was Indian. She smiled up at the clear sky and gently swayed in the falling water. She softly sang the lullaby into the empty clearing. Her voice washed over the animals and hidden eyes of her spectators.
Her doeskin dress and moccasins lay folded on the bank of the clear pool. A rabbit nuzzled her soft dress before lazily chewing grass beside it. A raccoon and an otter played in the water not far away from the falls, taking turns dunking each other.
Her laughter brought Running Wolf’s eyes back to her. She had a beautiful smile with even, white teeth between rose-pink full lips. His heart jumped in his chest. He must have her as his bride.
Running Wolf reached for the tethers of his horses and quietly left her to bathe in peace. Her animal friends were the only other souls around. Running Wolf hoped Chief Red Feather would accept his offer for the girl’s hand in marriage. The months of watching and planning seemed like years.
Harvest Flower suddenly grew nervous, and her laughter died when her friends stopped playing. A pebble fell from the cliff above, and her joy drained away. She quickly left the pool and stepped into her doeskin dress.
Quickly sitting down to slide her moccasins on and braid her hair into a single plait to the side, she watched the cliff above her for any movement. The dark shadow moved away from the edge, and she shivered as the dark feeling of unease washed over her.
A small girl called her name, and Harvest Flower flinched before standing. She quickly made her way back to the village, relieved that she didn’t feel eyes on her skin any longer. She stepped quietly along the path, thinking of what could be happening. The sounds from the village seemed more quiet than usual, and that worried her just a little.
A strong-looking warrior from another tribe was leading four horses through the camp. His own horse he rode with a straight back. She watched him for a second between huts before darting into her brother’s lodge.
A look of curiosity glued to her face as she peeked out of the doorway. Rising Bear stood and walked outside to see what his sister found so interesting. He had just made it back to his lodge before she entered.
The leaves still crackled on the fire where he removed them from his hair. The commotion of the village slowed, and some women giggled off to the side, pointing at the handsome newcomer.
Running Wolf saw her when she entered the village. She watched him before entering a smaller lodge. A tall man walked out a minute later and made his way to Red Feather’s lodge. Running Wolf felt the bitter sting of jealousy as Harvest Flower poked her head out of the skin-covered door.
Her eyes met his, and a small smile lit her face. The women following him now giggled and talked quietly as everyone gathered behind him.
Running Wolf halted the horses in front of Red Feather’s lodge, dismounting in one solid movement, and tied the four ponies to the lodge pole. His own horse was led away by a small brave. Harvest Flower paled and backed away from the door frame, letting the hide fall into place.
She quickly ran to the side of the hut, grabbing a basket filled with herbs and flowers. There was only one reason a warrior would tie horses to a lodge pole. He seeks a wife from that lodge.
