Unless We Dance

CHAPTER I

THE RUNAWAY

March 1831

Shoshana woke with a start. Her young body felt stiff, and an excruciating pain shot through her left arm. She tried to stretch her legs and move her left shoulder but found movement to be impossible. Her mind was groggy. She couldn’t think! Where was she? What was she doing here? Slowly, she stuck her head out from under her rough croker sack covering. She saw Sam Hawkins sitting on the flat open seat of the old buckboard wagon, humming softly. The two ancient sorrel mules, lumbering under their load, stumbled their way over the rough path.

Oh, God, she whimpered. She remembered!

Shoshana was a runaway slave. Sam was taking her to Florida—to safety with the Seminole Indians. He promised he would return when it was safe and take her to freedom, freedom in Philadelphia. Clara, mistress of Tanner Plantation, and advocate abolitionist, made arrangements with the Underground Railroad for her passage. Shoshana had her forged freedom papers tucked away with her meager belongings—she would be a free woman of color when she reached Philadelphia.

Put that coverin’ back over ya, little lady, Sam whispered without turning around. We’re gettin’ close, and this place is full of soldiers and slave hunters. No tellin’ when we might run inta som’em. I knows Mr. Eli done put a reward for ya, and them slave hunters are on horseback, they’s traveling faster’an us. They’s mean as a snake.

Shoshana eased back under the sack camouflage, to her hiding place in between the water kegs and supplies in the cramped wagon. She knew she dared not make a sound but couldn’t stop the silent tears coursing down her cheeks.

Shoshana lost track of time. She couldn’t remember how many days they had been traveling, keeping to the wooded areas and stopping only to eat their meager meals of canned cold beans, fatback, and the corn pone Dot had carefully packed for them. Sam, afraid a fire might draw attention, built a small fire for coffee making in the early morning hours only. He was fearful of the smoke allowing someone to find them.

It seemed an endless journey. Just thinking of living with Indians frightened her more than anything else. Would she ever get to Philadelphia? Shoshana squeezed her eyes closed, trying to force memories back, but she couldn’t rid her mind’s eye of her mother’s tearstained face, nor could she forget the sound of her soft voice when she whispered, Be safe, my child.

The buckboard jolted along the narrow, rough road. Its splintered sides looked worn in the gray moonlight. Sam sat hunched against the cold March night on the rough plank seat laid across the wagon. Dressed like a farmer in worn heavy clothing, he slumped further down on the seat and pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his eyes. We’ll soon be to the St. Johns River. Sam’s voice was raspy as he tried to speak in a whisper, ever fearful that someone might hear. There’ll be a place for ya to hide and wait till Eagle Wings come for ya.

How do you know he’s coming for me? Shoshana asked, her trembling voice giving way to her fear.

When I gets aways from here, I’ll be sendin’ a smoke signal. Eagle Wings knows to watch for my signals. Don’t worry, ya can depend on his comin’.

How will I know it’s him? Ms. Clara said all Indians look alike—that you can’t tell one from another.

Eagle Wings is a Indian warrior that’s too old to fight. But let me tell ya, he was some warrior in his day—yea, he was. I guess he’s about the bravest person I ever did know. Sam chuckled, Them soldiers and slave hunters think he’s off in the head so they’s leave him be.

The bumping of the wagon slowed and then stopped. Shoshana peeked out from under the sacks. Slowly, she climbed out of the wagon and unraveled herself, stretching her long graceful legs in front of her.

The hideout was a cleverly concealed dugout constructed barely above water level on the bank of the St. John River. One person could sit up in it; two would be cramped. The front was covered with brush and rock—undetectable by anyone not knowing it was there. I knows this ain’t too comfortable, but it’s the only place I can leave ya with all them soldiers and slave hunters round.

How am I going to know when it’s time to come out? she asked, reaching to wipe away the tears, hoping Sam hadn’t noticed and thought her a coward.

Ya know what the call of a crow sounds like?

I don’t know. I think so. I’m not sure.

Ya’ll know it. Sam imitated the cawing voice of the crow. Well, when ya hears the crow call, count to three slowly. Then, if ya hears that same call two times more, one right after the other, that’ll be Eagle Wings. Ya wait till he moves this here rock. Then ya go with him to his town. Soon as I can, I’ll come back, and we’ll get ya to the north. But till then, ya’ll be taken good care of. The Seminole treat their black friends good.

It was damp and cold inside the dugout, and the smell of the musty, wet dirt was stifling. Shoshana could barely sit up, and her folded legs were soon cramping. The palm fronds that lined the floor crackled with the slightest movement. She longed for her bed. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the early evening. She recognized most, frogs and owls, but there were grunts and cries that she could not ascribe to any earthly source. She was frightened, and she was bone tired.

Shoshana hugged her small bundle of clothes to her breast and buried her face in it. She tried not to think about home, but she was hungry, tired, and scared; controlling her thoughts was impossible. Her mind kept taking her back. Back home to the plantation’s warm kitchen, with all its mouthwatering smells. Back to the cozy room and warm bed she shared with her mother; back to Ms. Clara’s protective arms.

Ms. Clara’s probably having her dinner about now, she thought, and mama’s clearing away the dishes—making room for some of Dot’s peach cobbler. She swallowed the saliva that filled her mouth at the thought of the cobbler. I hate you, Master Eli. You’re a mean, low-down polecat. She spoke the words aloud, thinking to derive some justified revenge. There was no justification. I hate you . . . I hate you, she sobbed.

The dark of the night settled, and the moonlight filtered in through the leaves that helped cover the opening afforded little light. Shoshana listened to the lonely night sounds of crickets and a manic mockingbird serenading a sleeping forest. Knowing she was totally alone and helpless in a brutal hostile world overwhelmed her. She sobbed silently for the loss of everything she knew and loved.

Around midnight, she dropped off to sleep only to wake minutes later in a claustrophobic frenzy. Fear clutched her! She was sure she had heard the cawing sound of the crow! She counted—one, two, three. There it was a second time! She waited.

The bush was moving! She saw the form of the Indian on his knees moving the rock! Oh, God, that’s not Eagle Wings! Her heart pounded. He’s young! Eagle Wings is an old man! Fear paralyzed her body.

The young warrior motioned for her to get up, but she could not move. He reached for her; she recoiled. Come, he said, his voice a consoling whisper. I am Flying Eagle. Come, he repeated and held out his hand to her. Fetch Sam’s runaway to town of Asi-yaholo. The English words were softly spoken, and his dark eyes held tender warmth.

Slowly, Shoshana rose and slipped her fingers over the warrior’s hardened palm. Instantly, his fingers captured hers, offering protection and strength.

CHAPTER II

Pleasant weather marked the beginning of an early spring. Patches of sky overhead were brilliant blue, and a light breeze bent the new leaves on the silver oak trees into swaying dancers. Squirrels swung across the treetops, barking and chattering, frenzied by an interruption in their lives by the passing strangers. Myriad birds made sweet, sharp sounds in the branches of the thick oaks and hickories. A flock of wild turkeys flew away to their roosting places in the adjoining pine forest.

Flying Eagle knew every inch of the land, and as the old warriors taught him, he listened with care, taking notice of everything: every shift of wind, every random call of the birds, and every rustle of a palm, thus allowing him advantage over the slave hunters and Tesek-sin Chulee Hadjo, Old Mad Jackson’s soldiers.

Though Andrew Jackson had left Florida some ten years before, the Seminoles remembered his campaigns against them and their friend, the Negroes. Tales of Tesek-sin Chulee Hadjo were told by old and young alike.

Flying Eagle walked them through the dense backwoods, keeping at a distance the well-traveled roads made by the white man’s heavy wagons. Flying Eagle marveled at the black girl’s majestic beauty, her quietness, and the anger he felt generating from her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her features are delicately defined, her smooth brown skin silken and unblemished. Softly curling wisps of black hair framed the perfection of her oval face, and thick spikes of long lashes encircled her brown sparkling eyes. She stood tall and straight—her senses as alert as a doe’s searching for her enemies.

But Shoshana’s heart was marbled with long veins of bitterness, and with each step, her hatred grew. She hated her mother for giving birth to her. She hated Clara for sending her away. She hated God for being so cruel as to take away her home, her family, all she had ever known. God had wrecked her life, and she realized that she could no longer afford self-pity and tears if she was going to survive. Tears were for the young. She no longer felt young. She straightened her shoulders—she would survive.

Shoshana was hot and irritable as much from walking in the Florida heat as from her anger. Her dress was torn in several places, the hem seeming to catch every bush that she came near. She tied her hair up with a piece of lace ripped from her dress. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse with hopes of catching a cooling breeze.

Sensing Shoshana’s mounting irritation, Flying Eagle found a stream to camp beside where the surrounding area offered the protection of dense underbrush, encircling twenty-foot pine trees and cabbage palms. Runaway rest. Come, sit on log, he commanded, pointing to a nearby tree limb that had dropped from a giant live oak. He cut some fronds from a green cabbage palm and laid them on the fallen pine needles under a thicket of wild grapevines that had intertwined for many years, effectively blocking the rays of the sun. He fed Shoshana dried fish and coontie bread from his travel satchel and offered her water from the nearby stream.

Flying Eagle walked to the water’s edge after making sure Shoshana was well hidden. He raised his arms toward the vast blue-gray sky and began to give thanks to the Great Breath Giver.

Some ten minutes later, he stepped out of his leggings, and removing his breechcloth and shirt, he walked into the water to bathe. His solitary praise and bath afterward were a daily ritual that neither he, nor the members of his town, ever missed no matter the weather. And they enacted their religious values in everyday life. The essence of their belief was the spirit of wonder, the recognition of power as a mysterious form of nonmaterial energy. Every object contained a spirit or a condensed degree of energy; thus, their life was a continuous religious experience. They believed that people are one with the land and that Mother Earth is their permanent home. There is no concept of heaven or division from the Great Breath Giver. Spirits, after death, stay with the Great Breath Giver in plentiful, beautiful hunting grounds.

Shoshana tried to surround herself with an aura of distance, but her eyes seemed to have a will of their own, continually seeking Flying Eagle without her ability to stop them. He moved with the grace and silence of the Florida panther, and his black deep-set eyes observed everything around, darting like the eagle in flight. His straight coarse black hair was pulled neatly back and tied with a leather strap at the nape of his neck. He was tall, and his copper-colored body was lean and rippled with muscles. She thought him handsome, but she had no one to compare him to—he was the first Indian she had very seen.

Shoshana watched him as he walked toward her. Her eyes traveled up his long legs, now clothed in fringed leggings, past the breechcloth that came only to the middle of his thighs, over the wide expanse of chest that was bare and thickly muscled. She noted the scars that attest to his courage and endurance.

Were you praying? she asked.

Shoshana’s words startled him, for they were the first she had spoken. Her voice was soft and musical, not at all like the black people that live in the town near Fort Brooke. He noticed how clearly she spoke the words of the white-eye’s tongue. No pray. Give thanks to Great Breath Giver.

Shoshana could feel his sincerity as he spoke of his God, and she became braver after he answered her first question. How is it you speak the white man’s language so well?

Flying Eagle say Creek word, Mëk-kosukee word, white-eye word, he answered with pride. Seminole must know white-eye ways. To know, must know word.

Is that . . . that thing . . . hanging there, with the red hair, a scalp? She pointed to the leather strap hanging at his side.

"Flying Eagle tasikaya—warrior," he answered.

Shoshana felt a shiver run throughout her body but did not let his curt answer stop her questions. Why . . . why do you do that, take a man’s scalp? Isn’t killing him enough?

"White-eye take Seminole scalp. Seminole spirit go to hunting ground no hair. Seminole show white-eye Seminole brave people. Es-te-ca-te [Indian] red stick people must be free. Great Breath Giver give Seminole this land. Give legs to walk over land, eyes to see ponds, rivers, forest, animals. White-eye come, steal Seminole cattle, horse, cheat Seminole, take land. Seminole fight for land already belong Seminole." His emotions were strong as his hands and voice tried to explain his love for the land and his hate for the white man.

"White-eye say land call Florida many ok-ye-ha [mosquito], much os·kē [rain], many Es-te-ca-te [Indian] red people, yet white-eye come."

But Sam said your war with the white man was over, that the Seminole would be allowed to stay on their land. Governor Duval made it all possible.

Sam white-eye, he said, with unmistakable malice.

But I thought Sam was your friend.

Sam, friend. War will come. Enough talk. He put her small bundle of clothing on the pallet of palm fronds and pine needles under the thicket of wild grapevines. Come, Runaway, sleep. Flying Eagle watch.

Shoshana did not have the will to resist. She was weary of mind and body. She wanted only to sleep a few minutes and forget everything that had brought her to this distressful period in her life. She lay silent, stealing a glance over Flying Eagle as though she were unsure if she should trust his offer of protection. The thought fleetingly traveled through her mind that perhaps she would need protection from him.

Flying Eagle did not miss her look of apprehension. Runaway safe. Sleep. Flying Eagle watch.

His softly spoken words held the power to assure her, and she relaxed against her pallet. From the opening of her resting place, she saw the early spring sky, framed by tall pine trees. It was as blue as the flowers Ms. Clara called morning glories, and the small stationary clouds looked like cotton fields ready for picking.

An alligator crawled ponderously from underneath the water to bask on the sandy shore, but Shoshana was not afraid. Flying Eagle said they would not harm her.

She slept in the tangles of the wooded area while the eagles circled high overhead, and the black buzzards, their wings shining ebony in the sunlight, searched for food.

The rustling of the dried oak leaves woke Shoshana. She stretched her weary body, and surprisingly, she felt rested. How long have I been sleeping? she wondered. She crawled out of her vine-covered nest and walked into the clearing under the pine trees, her eyes searching for Flying Eagle. She opened her mouth to call out for him, but the sound of twigs snapping under heavy booted feet and the stench of sweaty, unwashed bodies silenced her tongue. Her mouth went dry—she didn’t know what she should do, only that she must do something before they saw her.

It was too late!

Well, lookey here? Hey, Teddy Boy, lookey what I found, the man called to his partner. He dropped his horse’s reins and sauntered toward Shoshana. He raked a hand through his dirty blond hair and licked his lips. What’s a pretty nigger gal like you doing out here all by herself? His eyes lighted up as if someone whispered the answer in his ear. You’s a slave! I knows you’s a slave ’cause you a nigger, and I’ll just bet a runaway that belongs to some rich plantation owner. And I’ll just bet that they’s a big reward to take you back. He reached a rough, callused hand toward Shoshana’s soft cheek. Who’s you owner, nigger gal? Don’t much matter. You’ll fetch a fancy price in Savannah on the slave block.

Shoshana moved out of his reach, but said nothing.

Oh, Ms. Touch-Me-Not. Well, missy, me and my brother’s gonna touch you plenty. He rubbed his crotch and smiled. You gonna like it. We knows how to treat nigger slave gals. Ain’t that right, Teddy Boy? The intruder turned, his eyes searching for his brother. Teddy, where the hell is you?

Shoshana’s survival instincts quickened. Run! Now! She spun around, bunching up her dress as her feet flew. Hair and tears matted her eyes. She gulped air, a guttural sound emitted from her throat. She glanced back and saw nothing, but surely he was there, chasing. She ran harder, sobbing into the air.

Shoshana felt nauseated and weak. She could run no more. Why bother? It