“Yes,” Susanna agrees. She stands up, increasing the space between them. “Let us both think.”
“You never came to dinner,” Meera says when she returns to the tannery later. “Were you with that man all this time?”
“No. I was just late. And then I decided it was better not to go at all than to be seen coming late. I didn’t want to invite any questions.”
“What questions?”
“You know how Consolation is.”
Susanna continues to pound the skin before her, a fisher, the only animal she knew of that ate porcupine. Its fur never fetched as much as beaver in their store but the skin is a lovely reddish brown color, rather like her own hair in winter.
“Here,” Meera says. She hands Susanna a biscuit. Then she sits on a stool and begins plucking the guard hairs off another hide. “At the table all the talk was of the Chippewa chief and his counselors. They arrived a few hours ago, twenty men on twenty horses. Everyone is curious.”
“I heard they were coming. My sister and I will be serving them food.”
Meera looks up. “That is an honor,” she says. Susanna shrugs. Meera says, “What did the man want to talk to you about?”
It takes Susanna a moment to understand that Meera has gone back to the subject of Seth. She puts down her paddle and gets a drink from the dipper. Is the room hotter than usual? She wipes her forehead with the end of her apron and notices that the cloth is not very clean.
“A marriage proposal.” She pauses, but Meera just looks at her without changing her expression. “He asked me to marry him.”
“I know what a marriage proposal is,” Meera says. “What will you do?”
Susanna goes back to the table and begins pounding the fisher skin again.
“Beatrice will not go back to Severne. At least not yet.”
“That is her choice.”
“Well, it seems wrong to leave her.”
At that Meera laughs, and Susanna looks up sharply. “I see no humor in this.”
“It is not Beatrice who is holding you back, it is the man from Severne. If you wanted to be his wife you would go.”
Is this true, Susanna wonders? When she thinks of Seth alone, without his father, she feels—she doesn’t know what. But when she thinks of his father and the horses and wagon, she becomes confused. Aurelia told her that a white man watched them being taken away. But surely she would have recognized Amos Spendlove.
Seth is a good man, Susanna reminds herself, he’s not like his father. He doesn’t drink and he doesn’t lie. But something doesn’t sit right. It occurs to her that in all his talk Seth did not mention love. Something pulses in her neck and she puts her hand in her pocket to feel for her turkey hen bone before remembering it is gone. She picks up the paddle again. There are many reasons for marriage, she reminds herself, not just love.
“I ought to talk to my sister,” she says.
“You say she does not want to leave.”
“Maybe I can change her mind.”
For a while they work in silence.
“You must make your own plans,” Meera says finally. “Just as I do.”
Susanna is late that afternoon returning to the Sisters’ Choir, and as she approaches the bark building she sees Beatrice waiting for her in the doorway wearing a scolding expression. In the large downstairs room, all the young women in their missionary dresses are sitting on benches or straight-back chairs knitting or mending and talking in different languages. They are all native except Sister Pauline, who is busily embroidering a new quotation on her blanket and does not look up. She has loops of cotton thread set out before her which she dyes herself, eight different shades of brown.
Susanna and Beatrice go up the narrow stairs to the sleeping room. Even here it is crowded with women lying on blankets on the floor, resting after all their hard work in the fields or kitchens or scutching houses. Susanna splashes water on her face from a basin in the corner. The tepid water smells like minerals and she thinks of her mother, who sometimes put crushed mint leaves in the water to take away the creek smell.
“Your dress is all right but you’ll need a clean apron,” Beatrice says. She hands her a towel impatiently. All of her sisters are impatient. It is one of their shared traits, like red hair.
Susanna is no exception. When she left Severne she told herself it was because she wanted to do something for her sisters and not just wait for others to do it for her, but maybe, she thinks now, that wasn’t really true. Maybe her motives weren’t so pure. The truth is, she doesn’t want to be alone, and that desire has been behind everything. It’s propelled her to where she is now, and she really shouldn’t call it anything but what it is, selfish. She decided some weeks ago that she would stay in Gemeinschaft with the hope that something would change—either that Beatrice would come to her senses and leave Gemeinschaft with her, or that she would find some way to live here, too. Both seem equally unlikely. Maybe staying here is her penance for her rash actions. Only she doesn’t believe in penance. That’s Beatrice’s realm.
Beatrice combs out Susanna’s hair for her and pins it up. Then she finds a clean cap for her to wear. But a clean apron is more problematic.
“This one has animal blood on both sides,” Beatrice complains.
“They all do. I work at a tannery. Beet, did Penelope ask Amos Spendlove to sell Frank and Bess and the wagon?”
“I don’t think so. Why would she? Here, you can borrow this one. No, turn it around.” She makes a little click with her tongue. “Not much better,” she says.
“Seth Spendlove told me today that his father instructed him to sell the horses and wagon down the Blanchard.”
“Seth Spendlove is still here?” Beatrice begins to adjust her own cap.
“He asked me to marry him.”
“What?” Beatrice lets her hands drop and turns to look at Susanna. Her face is bright red with surprise.
“He wants me to go back to Severne with him.”
“What did you answer?”
“What would you have me answer?”
“Susanna, this is your decision.”
But Susanna thinks she saw a shift in Beatrice’s expression. On impulse she says, “Come back to Severne with me, Beet. Let us both go back. We can run Sirus’s store the way you always wanted.” Just like that, she is ready to let go of Philadelphia.
But Beatrice doesn’t hesitate. “No, I cannot.” She touches her nape quickly, feeling for any loose hairs. “We must fly. Consolation and Johanna are waiting for us at the Bell House with the food. We can talk about this later.”
Fortunately Johanna is waiting not only with baskets of food, but also with two new aprons, freshly sewn, for them to wear.
“Sister Benigna,” Consolation says to Beatrice, “you take the cheese. Sister Susanna, the dried berries and nuts. I’ll take this one.” When she turns the mirrors on her dark shawl glitter back at them.
“Benigna?” Susanna whispers to Beatrice as they follow her. “Why does she call you that?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Tell me now.”
Beatrice glances at her. She slows her pace and says in a low voice, “I was going to talk to you about it tonight. I’ve petitioned to stay here permanently. And my petition was granted.”
“What?” Susanna stops walking. “You did that? Without telling me?” She looks at Beatrice’s face, which is flushed but also holds a stubborn expression. “Why would you do that?”
“I want to stay here. I told you. Hush now, let’s go in. We’ll talk about it later.”
Johanna is waiting for them, holding open the heavy door to the Meeting House. Inside, the benches that are normally set out in rows in the center of the room have been stacked against the walls, and all the men, white and native, are sitting in a circle on blankets on the floor. It is hot in the room. The fireplace is large enough to roast a horse, and one man is sitting on a stool in front of it, feeding it bark and sticks to keep the flames high.
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As soon as Brother Graves sees them he stands up and comes over. He says, “In a little while Pemitschischen, the Chippewa chief, will begin his speech. After he finishes I will say a few words. Then you can begin to distribute the rolls and the meat.”
Susanna looks at the visiting Chippewa in the circle, who seem very colorful in their traditional dress, whereas the mission Indians are all dressed like white men. The room is noisy with talk, and it smells strongly of men’s bodies mixed with tobacco and smoke from the fire. When Susanna opens her mouth she can feel the smoke on her tongue like a taste.
Consolation and Johanna go off to fill the water pitchers from the large cask near the fireplace, and Susanna takes the opportunity to turn to Beatrice again.
“I thought you wanted to run our store,” she says. “You argued so hard for that.”
“I believe in the worth of the brethren’s mission,” Beatrice says in a low voice. Her fervent voice. “There is good work being done here. Just look around you! I want to help.”
“But what about me?” Susanna can hear that she sounds like a child. She feels like a child.
“Susanna, people grow up, they marry, they leave home. We can’t always be all together. Even if...if none of what happened had happened, we still might not be together. You wanted to go to Philadelphia, and I wanted to stay in Severne. Remember? You might have left, I might have stayed.”
Strangely, that never occurred to Susanna. She thought they would all go or stay together. The barren sisters, the sisters who give themselves airs. She doesn’t want to live by herself.
Consolation and Johanna return with full pitchers just as a thin, tall Chippewa stands up. Susanna guesses that this is the chief, Pemitschischen. He is wearing many ropes of necklaces and his tunic is embroidered with a beautiful pattern of green leaves edged in blue thread. The young man next to him also stands, and the smoky room becomes quiet.
When Pemitschischen begins to speak, the young man translates his words into English.
“Grandfather,” he begins, looking at Brother Graves. “The Chippewa, Tawa, Potawatomi, and Wyandot have charged me to come to you and in their name bring you this message of peace. This string”—he lifts a white string of wampum—”is proof of the agreement among these four nations, and our promise of goodwill to you.” He passes the wampum down the line to Brother Graves, who accepts it with a bow of his head.
“Grandfather, you perhaps have heard evil rumors which have caused you and those like you pain and uneasiness. Tonight let me wash your eyes so you can see the truth of what I am saying. Let me make clear your heart so that with your heart you may understand we offer not war but peace, not discord but friendship. We of the four nations stand by your new nation and call your president our king. To this we give you another string as a promise.”
He talks for a few minutes, and in spite of her argument with Beatrice Susanna finds herself drawn to his words and to the gentle cadence of his speech, although she does not know what rumors he is talking about. When Pemitschischen finishes, she looks over at Beatrice. Her eyes are shining.
Brother Graves stands to give his own brief thanks to the visiting Chippewa for coming, and then he nods to Consolation. These are only the short speeches before the meal. After they eat the real parley will begin.
“As you serve them,” Consolation tells Susanna and Beatrice, “do not look at any man directly. Cast your eyes only upon the food. Now wait until I have served the chief.”
She picks up a basket and goes first to Pemitschischen, who selects a piece of dried venison from it. Afterward, Johanna presents to him her basket of rolls, which he waves aside. Susanna and Beatrice start at the other end of the circle.
It is hard not to look at Pemitschischen as she walks around. Even sitting, he is a powerful presence. When she comes to him, he selects two nuts from her basket and for a moment holds them in the open palm of his hand. Then he says to her, in English, “Stay.”
Susanna looks at him in surprise. From the corner of her eye she can see Consolation stop and look over.
“You walk in shoes of Potawatomi,” Pemitschischen says. “Why is this?”
She has forgotten about Aurelia’s moccasins. She looks at Consolation, who stares back at her, for once without a suggestion. Then Susanna looks at Brother Graves. He nods.
“They were my sister’s,” she answers.
“She lived with Potawatomi?”
“They—she was taken by them. She died by their hand.”
Pemitschischen looks at the rough wall behind her as if something small there has caught his attention. Consolation makes a noise and when Susanna looks over she motions with two fingers to the floor. Susanna looks down. Pemitschischen’s moccasins have the pointed tip that marks them as Chippewa. Has their discourse ended? But after a moment Pemitschischen does a surprising thing: he takes off one of his necklaces and holds it out to her.
In spite of Consolation Susanna feels that she must look at him, and when she does he is looking straight back at her. His eyes are lined with the fine wrinkles of someone who laughs and enjoys it. He says a few words in Chippewa, and the young man next to him translates: “Accept this gift as a promise of new friendship on this day and all the days to come.” Then Pemitschischen places the necklace in her hand. His fingers are warm on hers.
“Thank you,” she says, bowing her head. She looks at the necklace. It is very pretty. Small strips of leather strung with white beads hang from the main strand, and in between the strips of leather hang eight bleached bones, polished and creamy, like milk.
A ripple of pleasure mixed with embarrassment runs through her. She wants to say more than thank you but she doesn’t know how. She is honored that he has noticed her in this way, and surprised that he would seek to make reparation even though he is not responsible for what happened. He is still watching her, and when she looks at Brother Graves again he signals for her to put on the necklace. It comes down to her last rib.
“Wanishi,” she says in Delaware. She does not know the word for thanks in Chippewa.
“Well,” Consolation says later, when they have finished serving. They’ve left the men to their speeches and are standing outside the Meeting House. “My dear, how surprising.”
Johanna nods. “A great honor was given to you.” Carefully she lifts the necklace to look at it more closely. “These little beads are whelk. From the east,” she tells them.
“And what are these?” Beatrice asks, touching a bone.
Susanna fingers the necklace. Evening is falling and the air smells of coming rain. Above the village, dark clouds are pushing against one another as though each one wants to claim the same small space. A storm is coming. Maybe more than one.
“Turkey hen bones,” she says.
Eleven
After the Chippewa leave it rains for three days without stopping. A heavy wind keeps everyone inside, and it is so dark that even at midmorning candles are needed. Seth stays in the Brethren’s Choir contemplating the tedium of seclusion with insufficient tasks. The upstairs room is crowded and smells like sleeping bodies, of which there are many, and the downstairs fireplace smokes. Seth stays downstairs, but on the side of the room farthest from the hearth.
He does what he can, mends his bridle, writes a few letters, but on the third day he can think of no other task and finds himself reading the Proverbs. There is always a Bible at hand.
The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, he reads. He thinks of himself. Perhaps he was a fool to come here, but how would he know? It certainly felt natural to pursue his own happiness, as recent statesmen gloriously and shrewdly have proclaimed is his right. That Susanna Quiner is tied to his happiness he has no doubt. But to move to Philadelphia? What would he do there? He pictures an ironworks shop hemmed in on both sides by other shops, the constant noise, horses everywhere. Perhaps it would not be so bad. The point is, he doesn’t know.
Outside he can hear the storm’s wind gathering force again. When he
looks out he sees that the ground is covered with green branches ripped from the trees, some of them as thick as his arm. In one corner Brother Witt, a slate on his lap, is going over the letters of the English alphabet with two Seneca men. Seth puts down the Bible. He hasn’t been back to the chapel since he heard the Ottawa speak of his conversion. It occurs to him now, watching Brother Witt and his pupils, that it might be the very meeting of these two people—white and native—that makes him so uncomfortable. As though the two sides of himself could stand up together and declare that indeed a whole can be made from them. He does not know if that is really possible.
He takes from his pocket a letter he received from Cade a week ago and rereads it.
We have heard the British are selling their land for a farthing to Belgians and French alike in the hopes of raising money for a new army. Some say they are planning to invade again. England has not entirely given us up. And so I’ve decided conclusively to join a militia. There are several in Kentucky that will provide you a uniform if you provide a gun. Amos is drunk all the time, worse than ever. No doubt I’ll take to drinking too one day, if I don’t leave. He is very angry with you and talks about fetching you back with a whip in his hand. I’ve reminded him you are much stronger now than you were at twelve.
It goes on a little longer, but it is the postscript that interests Seth most:
I’ve adopted Aurelia’s hens and have built a new henhouse closer to our cabin. But today I found two eggs in the scrub—they have not yet taken to their new home. When I leave for Kentucky I will take a hen with me as some do dogs. Fresh eggs, that will be my contribution to whatever cause I fight for.
It is a comfort to see the familiar scrawl, even the inkblots, of which there are many. The militia will be a good place for Cade. Seth can see that Aurelia’s death still weighs on him, as indeed how could it not? But he has no doubt that eventually Cade will find a new woman and make his own, new life. The life of a soldier-farmer perhaps. Or might he persuade Cade to follow him to Philadelphia? It is then that Seth realizes he has made up his mind. He still cannot picture that life but somehow he has made up his mind.
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