View from the Front Porch

By Donna and Ev

The residents of Singing Creek Camp had developed a certain rhythm to their daily activities that helped keep things running smoothly. By mid morning, most of the men were usually out hunting, or doing whatever they thought needed to be done. That left the women free to do their work without having the men underfoot. By early afternoon, the sun tended to heat one part of the creek that was a little deeper than the rest of it, and that was when the women liked to come to bathe. As usual, as the nut-brown maidens all gathered to wash, they had a silent observer. Trapper Connor, if he was not out hunting himself, always managed to be out sitting on a homemade rocking chair on the porch at that particular time.  

The first time he noticed the women bathing in the creek, it had been purely by accident, but it had become something more in the past weeks.  All of the women were beautiful, but there was one in particular who had caught his attention.  He found himself dreaming about her.  They were very nice dreams, but he couldn't bring himself to approach her.  He was fairly sure he would be turned away.  So instead, he watched.  

Nightwind was indeed a beautiful woman.  She was tall and slender, with her glossy black hair reaching down to her hips when it was unbraided. The gentle rounding of her stomach under her buckskin dress confirmed his earlier suspicions that she had come to Edan carrying the child of her murdered husband, and he was glad for her. At least she would have his baby to remember him by. 

After he had brought her and Echo from Camelot to the Camp, Trapper had faded into the background, always around, but never intruding. The two women were welcomed as he told them they would be, and made part of the Singing Creek family, as had been Duncan MacLeod, who had blended in so well with the others, it was hard to believe that he did not have Indian blood in his veins as well. 

The closeness and family feel of the camp called to him and the simplicity and peace of their way of life was comforting.  Part of him wanted to join in and be a part of everything, but part of him had been alone so long and had seen and done so many things, he felt that he could never really be one of them.  It had been a very long time since he felt that he really belonged anywhere.   

The women came to the creek, and completely unashamed, stripped off their clothing and started to wash themselves. They knew he watched them, as did the men who had told them it was good that he kept watch over them when the other men were out hunting. It made them feel even safer.  

The longer he watched her and got to know her, the more he wanted her.  She was so close to perfect that it made his heart ache.  He didn't even realize that his hand had slid inside his pants until he heard footsteps behind him.   

The buzz of another immortal hit him at the same time. A very familiar buzz. Carrying the bodies of two large turkey like birds, Duncan MacLeod, or Wolf as he was known in the camp, came up to the porch and sat on it's edge, smiling as he saw the women and what they were doing.  "Connor, why do you torture yourself like this?" he asked. "If you like the girl, tell her!"  

Connor sighed.  "It's not that simple.  She will never accept me.  If we were both from another time, maybe, but she could never accept a white man.  Whites killed her family.  How can I even ask her?"  He got up and went inside.  There was a bottle of whiskey in there somewhere.   

Little Deer looked up, and seeing Wolf, smiled and waved.  Wolf still couldn’t believe that she and her son were back in his life! It was as if the huge hole that had been torn out of his heart and soul had been repaired, as if their deaths had just been a horrible never ending nightmare that he had finally woken up from.  

Wolf waved back, and then followed Connor inside, intending to push a little more. But the look on his old teacher's face told him he was about to get knocked on his fanny if he said anything else. Duncan decided to ignore the warning signs. If he could kick start Connor into making a move, a busted jaw would be well worth it!  

Connor knew that he meant well, but there were some things that were still open wounds in his heart.  He couldn't bear to let himself love and then lose her again.  The whiskey didn't really make the pain go away, but at least it felt a little more distant.  

Keeping the table between him and Connor, Duncan gave it one last shot. "Hell, Connor. I'm white too! These people don't care what blood you ha' in yer veins, as long as yer livin' a life that fits in with theirs," he said, watching the tell tale tightening of Connor's jaw that meant he had gone too far.  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound!  

"You can get off yer ass and join us, or you can stay on your porch and whack off every time you see..." He didn't get to finish his sentence. It was a good thing he had quick reflexes, or otherwise the big skinning knife that Connor had thrown at him would have skewered him to the wall.  He pulled the knife out of the log wall of the cabin and put it on the table, an amused look on his face.   

“Out!” Connor growled. Wolf left Trapper’s cabin, shaking his head as he wondered what he could do next to help those two get together.  There had to be a way!