Hope And A Future, 1A

Swims Like The Otter handed me a cloth wrapped bundle, the cloak they had taken from me four months earlier, and led me into the woods. It was too hot to wear the cloak, so I folded it over my arm, happy enough to have it back that I didn’t mind the weight or the way it trapped heat against me. I was surprised at the lack of contrast between my arm and the brown wool. The Indian women spent far more time working in the sun than I was used to, and my skin had darkened to a golden tan. When I stepped over a fallen log, my braid fell over my shoulder and I could see blond streaks in the brown.

“Swims Like The Otter, where are we going?”

“Hunting Crane had a vision of your future. He told me you must go back to your own people.”

The sun was high in the sky when we topped a hill. We stood for a moment as he got his bearings. From where I stood I could see the Kentucky River to the south, curving away from me and flowing lazily, debris from the spring flood still on the bank. It had been much higher when my captors took me across in a canoe on our trek north.

Swims Like The Otter touched my arm and started down toward a farm. Fields of oats and wheat reached toward the sun. The house and barn seemed, from a distance, to be in good repair. The only person I could see was a man a few hundred yards away fitting a rail into a fence post. He looked up as we approached and watched us warily.

Swims Like The Otter held his hands out and greeted the man in Shawnee. The man stuttered through the appropriate response and apologized for his poor command of the language.

"Parlez vous Francais?"

The man’s shoulders relaxed. "Oui."

I kept my eyes down. The man’s long pants and sturdy black shoes looked strange to me since everyone I had ever known had worn moccasins.

In heavily accented French, Swims Like The Otter introduced himself to the man. He took my arm and said, "This is Works Hard. I must make a trade for her."

"What kind of trade?"

"Trade goods. Not people." He stepped closer to the fence. "She will not live with my people. If I do not find a trade, I must take her back and they will burn her."

Fear clutched my stomach and squeezed hard as my heart began to pound. Blood roared in my ears and drowned out the conversation. I struggled to fight down my panic as the man stepped back. Swims Like The Otter ducked between the rails of the fence and motioned for me to join him. I swallowed hard and followed them to a small barn.

He traded me for two knives, three blankets, and an iron cook pot. After he said good-bye to the man, Swims Like The Otter turned to me. "Hunting Crane said he knows you did not kill Stands Straight. You must follow your heart and forget your past to reach your destiny."

I watched him walk away and duck through the fence. The man beside me shuffled his feet. "Je me pelle Benjamin Vance."

His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, his dark hair tightly bound. I focused on his collar. "I speak English, Mr. Vance. My name is Sadie LaSalle. Thank you for saving me."

"You're welcome. How long were you with the Shawnee?"

"About four months, I think. They killed my husband the first week in March."

"I'm sorry."

I fought back the urge to say, "I'm not" and instead murmured, "Thank you."

A distance voice called, "Ben! Are you going to eat?"

"I'm coming. Set an extra plate,” he called over his shoulder. “Mrs. LaSalle, come and eat with us. After dinner we'll figure out where to go from here."