Captive Eden by Brenda Williamson

toppled over the side of the canoe into
the river. Brant tried to reach for him but the current moved swift and
erratic. Charlie bobbed to the surface.
    “Do not fight the water, Charlie, dig deep just as if you
were a dog.” He paddled harder until he had the boat alongside the boy.
Snatching him up by the collar of his shirt, he dragged Charlie out of the
river.
    Charlie flopped over on Brant’s lap, choking. Steering the
boat to the bank, Brant carried him to dry ground.
    “Cough it up, boy.” He held him over his forearm and rubbed
his back. “Enough?”
    Charlie nodded and Brant lifted him.
    “I’m sorry, sir. I forgot—” He coughed. “I forgot you told
me not to stand up in the boat.”
    Brant pulled him forward and hugged him tight. “You will
learn.”
    “Please don’t tell Mama, sir. She won’t let me go again.”
    Brant held Charlie at arm’s length. His first impulse was to
tell his son his mother didn’t make the rules.
    “We will not be able to keep this from her but I will take
all the blame.”
    “I never do anything right.”
    “Just being here is right, Charlie.” He hugged him again. “Just
being my son makes everything you do right.”
    “Sir?”
    “You do not have to call me sir all the time either.” He
rose up and took Charlie’s hand. “My name is Brant.”
    The village wasn’t far and they talked as they walked.
    “We’re named almost the same,” Charlie commented. “When
mama’s angry, she calls me all my names. Charles Brant Sullette. Then I know I’m
in big trouble.”
    Brant put an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, elated to learn
that Eden had given their son his name. “I know what you mean. Your mother and
I knew each other a long time ago and I got my fair share of her temper too.”
    “That means she likes you.”
    “Does it?”
    “She says it’s not worth the energy to yell at someone of no
cons…quence.”
    “Consequence,” Brant corrected, ruffling the boy’s wet hair.
“I reckon you will be the one to get yelled at, then. You are very important to
her.”
    “Hey, you said you’d take the blame.”
    Brant laughed and felt a quick and irreversible bonding with
his son.
    “Won’t you feel funny if I don’t call you father or papa?”
    “I would like whatever you decide.” He squeezed Charlie’s
shoulders. “Now I promised your mother I would bring you to the pond. I think
earlier than she expected would be best.”
    “Do I have to?” He kicked his foot in the sand. “Sully
wanted to show me his knifes.”
    “You like knives?”
    “I don’t know but it sounds neat. He said you got him all
kinds and sizes.”
    “A good knife is an invaluable tool to an Indian. We hunt
with them. Defend ourselves with them and—” Brant stopped before saying kill
with them. He had a strong urge to shield Charlie from anything harsh about the
world. He’d been wrong to give Eden the impression he didn’t think she’d raised
Charlie right.
    “Shave,” Charlie added. “Sully says I should watch you shave
with yours.”
    Brant rubbed his jaw. He had shaved the day before in
preparation of meeting Eden—another one of his attempts to impress her.
    “Maybe tomorrow.” He put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
    “Swell.”
    “All right then, go to your grandmother for clothes and then
you can go see my brother’s knives. Be careful, they are not for play.”
    “I promise. I’ll just look at them.”
    Brant nodded and waved him to go. He watched Charlie run
through the camp and dodge around everything in his way.
    Putting a hand to the back of his head, Brant rubbed the
tension knotted by the scare he had of Charlie nearly drowning. Nothing ever
rattled him the way Charlie had when he fell in the river.
    Brant walked to the pond. The sight of Eden beautifully
naked in the water stopped him just shy of making his presence known. The
lovely shape of her had always mesmerized him. She made him love her with his
soul.
    The emotions Brant thought Eden