by Karen Kay
“Yes, Miss Marisa.” Bowing, he turned to do her bidding.
Marisa leaned forward toward a piece of glass in the window to check her image in the dusty imitation of a mirror. Suddenly she frowned. If Black Eagle were alive, wouldn’t he be here in person delivering his own message?
Her stomach dropped as fear washed through her. Of course he would be here.
Closing her eyes, she turned her back away from the door, as though by that action she wouldn’t have to receive the message she knew was coming. She didn’t want to know.
“Are you Ahweyoh?” asked a male voice, one she didn’t recognize.
Marisa spun around. The man before her could have been a younger version of Black Eagle, except that this man’s hair was long. Around one of his shoulders hung a red blanket, highly decorated with red-and-blue beadwork. A sash of red and blue was tied around his waist, and across his chest he wore the tools of his trade, his musket and shells. Buckskin leggings outlined his legs, and the moccasins on his feet were beaded in a pattern of stripes. He was really little more than a boy.
“I am,” she replied at last.
The youth nodded ever so slightly. “I am Gray Fox, and I bear you a message from my brother, who cannot be here.”
She gasped and steadied herself against the table so recently vacated by the young Mohawk girl. “What do you mean?”
“My brother has sent me to tell you that he wishes it hadn’t come to this.”
She put her hand to her heart. “Your brother? Black Eagle? Is that who you mean?”
“It is.”
“What is it he wishes hadn’t happened?”
The boy looked away from her, but only for a moment. “My brother,” he began unsteadily, “freed me from a horrible death by taking my place in the Abenaki village.”
“No! You mean that he…? Why did you let him?” It was more an accusative statement than question.
“I had no choice.”
Marisa’s hand came to her mouth as she tried to curb the sensation of spinning. “No.” But the word lacked its former force. Slowly, unmindful of the boy, she sank to the floor and covered her face in her hands as her world came crashing in around her. She felt as if she too were dying. Pictures of their short life together flashed through her mind’s eye, causing her grief to distort her sense of time and place.
“I waited several days before coming to you with this message. I needed to ensure that he…” The youth stopped speaking and looked away briefly before he continued, “He told me to tell you that you can stop waiting now.”
Tears were quick to flow down her cheeks, and she cried without restraint. This was it, then? She’d found him only to lose him? What a cruel world this was.
She should have gone with him. She shouldn’t have let him talk her out of it. Whatever his fate was to be should have been her own also.
“I promised him that I would escort you safely to New Hampshire.”
Marisa was almost beyond listening, so overwhelming was her grief.
“I am sorry. Once the arrangements were made, I could do nothing to stop the Abenaki from making the switch. I promised him I would take you where you need to go, and then carry word to our grandmother.”
Marisa paid the youth almost no attention, so that when a deep voice, one which was very dear to her, said quietly, “There will be no need for that now,” Marisa thought she was losing her mind. That voice. She knew its sound, the quality of its pitch… Black Eagle.
“Thank you, my brother, for attending to these duties as I asked you to do.”
“I am glad to see you alive.”
“And I am joyful to still be alive. We will talk later, but for now, you may go.”
She heard the words, she heard the voices, but still, when strong arms came around her, so complete was her loss, she couldn’t believe it. Indeed, she thought she was momentarily living in her dreams.
“It is I.”
She cried.
Strong fingers pushed back her hair as he brought her face in close to his. “An Abenaki chief so admired my courage at taking my brother’s place that instead of the torture that was planned, I was made a member of the tribe. I would have been here sooner; it was my plan to overtake my brother on the path here. But there was a ceremony in my honor at the village, and I could not leave at once.”
She barely understood Black Eagle’s words. The only important matter she could comprehend was that he was here now. Dream or ghost, he was here now.
She whispered, “Are you real?”
“Here.” He took her hand and placed it on his cheek. “Touch me and know that solid flesh is beneath your fingers.”
She threw herself farther into his arms, which curled around her to pull her in so close to him that she felt as though their skin melted together. She hiccupped, then scolded, “Don’t you ever do that again. Never. If ever this happens again, I go with you.”
He nodded. “Perhaps…perhaps it may be so.”
Together, in one another’s arms, despite the fact that they embraced in the center of the Jesuit’s hospital floor, they cried together.
Gray Fox had gone on ahead in order to prepare their grandmother for the news that Black Eagle was returning home with his bride. Black Eagle had thought it wise to make ready their homecoming, since it was likely his grandmother would not be happy. Indeed, she would be shocked that he had married the “dreaded” English. Thus, better it would be if she knew in advance. Gray Fox was also under strict instruction to ask their grandmother to make no judgment until she met his new wife.
At present both he and Ahweyoh were reclining in the woods that skirted the deserted corn and bean fields of the Mohawk village of Canajoharie. Ahweyoh was attending to the many cuts and bruises on his head. She had also insisted he wear a bandage around a particularly deep cut on the side of his head.
When she at last had the bandage in place, she said, “There is more to the story of how the Abenaki came to decide to make you part of their tribe instead of torturing you to death, isn’t there?”
“There is,” replied Black Eagle, as he gazed with admiration at his wife. His wife. How he liked the sound of that. The Jesuit monks had insisted they be married at once, and neither he, nor Ahweyoh, had objected. Of course, they would be married by Mohawk tradition as well. His grandmother would insist.
“There are bruises and cuts all over your body,” Ahweyoh was saying. “Can you tell me a little of what happened? How did you get all of these?”
“I had to run the gauntlet, of course.”
“Run the gauntlet? I know what that is since I’ve seen the practice performed against a condemned soldier. But I didn’t know that the American Indian tribes also used this form of punishment.”
“It is possible that the practice comes to us from the Dutch or the English. I do not know when it started as a means of making a person pay for their sins, because it has been with the tribes for as long as I have lived.”
“But I don’t understand. If they intended to adopt you into the tribe, why did they force this form of torture upon you?”
“Because I could not be adopted by them when so many wrongs have been done to their people by mine. I had to be cleansed. So if any man or woman had revenge upon their minds, they were allowed to strike me. If I were living at the end of the line, I was to be adopted.”
Ahweyoh was biting her lip. He leaned in close to kiss those same lips.
She sighed. “How I love you. I am glad that someone in the tribe sought to make you a part of it in honor of your heroic deed. I didn’t realize that the tribe had any honor amongst them. Thank the good Lord I have been wrong.”
“Yes. As the story goes, their chief lost a son to the Mohawk in much the same way that they intended to kill my brother. But when I walked into their camp and begged them to let me take my brother’s pl
ace, the chief was so moved, he chose to save Gray Fox. Then wishing that someone had been as kind to his son, he decided to set an example by showing generousness to his enemy, and he decided to adopt me, so that our people can be at peace. But I was required to run the gauntlet before I could ever be adopted by his people. I will carry this story to my people so that the peace may begin.”
She frowned. “Are all captives required to run the gauntlet?”
“Not all, but most.”
Her frown deepened. “Will I?”
“Of course not,” he replied at once.
“But if not that, what will happen?”
“You will be taken into a home and adopted by a clan, and I will come to live with you in your new home, though your new clan might insist that we exchange gifts first, to ensure we are married properly.”
Marisa met this news with silence, then, “What if your people hate me?”
“They will love you.”
“Even your grandmother? She will hate me.”
“She will grow to love you.”
“I wish I could be so certain. Are there not some Mohawks, even in your village, who are allied to the French? Won’t they look upon me with ill favor?”
“No. Only those farther north, in the Queen’s Land, are allied to the French. Perhaps there may be a few of those people visiting, but they will do no damage to you while they are here.”
Although this sounded fair enough, she was still unsettled. “Black Eagle, did you have a sweetheart in the village before you left? A lover, perhaps, who will be on the lookout for you?”
“Would you be jealous if I did?”
“Maybe.”
He leaned in even closer to her and took her hand in his. “You are now my wife. Perhaps I should be truthful and tell you that there has been a girl or two who has caught my eye. It is only natural that it would be so. But there is no reason for you to be jealous. I made no girl my wife, though I could have. Know that I have not loved another as I love you.”
“You never had a special girlfriend?”
“I did once, but she married another. My heart, I fear, is free.”
“Was free,” she corrected. “Then there is no one waiting for you with bated breath?”
“My grandmother and my sisters, perhaps.”
She shook her head. “There is something here I can little comprehend. You are a handsome man, and kind. I cannot visualize a village without a woman clever enough to have made herself a part of your life.”
“This might have happened, it is true. But the one I would have chosen to be my wife belongs to another. And I fear that my heart had barely recovered from that when the hostilities between the French and English came to our land. The hatred between these two sets of white men has disrupted our village life.”
He turned his gaze upward, looking toward the high ground where he’d said their village was located. “We Mohawks are caught between these two great forces, and many are the times when the English or the French have come to our village to seek our assistance to help win their war.”
“Yes, I can imagine that the two powers would affect you adversely.”
“It is so. Long have we been at war because of the white man. Hundreds of years have passed since he came here with his wars. There was a time—though so long ago that not even our old people can remember it—when we made our own goods, manufactured our own bowls for cooking, our own pottery, our own clothes and produced our own weapons for hunting or for war. When we did this, we Indian Nations were on an even footing with one another. We were at peace. Or so it is said. But with the coming of the white man, who brought to us his guns for killing, his metal for cooking and his trinkets to satisfy the women, our people have had to fight to stay alive. For it is well known amongst all the Indian Nations that whoever has the best arms can dominate all the tribes. No one wants to be a slave.”
“No, I should say not.”
“Once, many hundreds of years ago, it is said that my ancestors were enslaved by a tribe known as the Adirondacks. These mountains that shelter us still carry their name. At that long-ago time, we had to pay them tribute. It was a hard time for my people. But we escaped them, enduring hardship, for there is one particular we Iroquois treasure above all else, and that is our freedom.”
She was silent so long, he wondered if she had become shy all of a sudden. Or was she opposed to his viewpoint, as she had been in the past? At last, she voiced, “Then do your people hate the white man for bringing so much war?”
“Hate? Never. Cautious, perhaps. Instead we have allied ourselves to the white men who have treated us well. At first those people were the Dutch who settled close to Mohawk land. But then the English came and conquered them, and the treaty we had made with the Dutch transferred to the English. We have never broken it.”
“And you are close to Sir William Johnson, personally, are you not?”
“I am. I have spent many hours in his home.”
“And does he come here often?”
“He does. He is a part of our tribe. Some have even called him our white sachem.”
“A white sachem. How strange that it should be so.”
“Strange, perhaps, but true. He has married among us, his children run in our fields, eat at our fires. Once an Iroquois adopts a person into the tribe, they become Iroquois, with all the rights of an Iroquois. It is as though they are reborn among us.”
“But I thought your grandmother cautioned you against marrying the English.”
“She did. She does. But William Johnson chose a woman who was free to give her love to him without the stigma of betraying her people. It is not as easy for a man to do.”
“I see.”
“Do not fear. You have a new life now, and I think that you are going to be the cause of great happiness to some family who has lost a son or daughter.” He reached out a finger to caress her cheek.
She smiled and leaned in toward his touch, making his heart glad. “I hope so. But still I worry about my welcome. I know women. And I fear that the one you once loved may be upset that you have brought me.”
“Perhaps, but I think she will be content that I have found another and that I, too, am at last happy.”
“Maybe,” answered Marisa with a sigh, “but there are some women who, though they do not want a man for themselves, will yet do all possible to keep another from having him.”
“Humph!” he grunted. “We will have to see. But if it becomes evident that this is so, there is not a person in whatever clan it is that adopts you who would not come to your defense.”
“Perhaps. I am still apprehensive.”
He brushed a kiss against her cheek. “I will be there for you. Know that you have become and are now the most important person in my life.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.” He murmured the words against her cheek before planting a kiss against her lips, hoping it might take away her apprehension. “Now, come, our scouts have already spotted us and have given me the signal to enter the village. They will have told the people that we are here, and there will be many who will be curious to meet you.”
He watched as she inhaled deeply. He wished he could make this easier for her. Did she not know that simply being with him would provide her with a warm welcome?
There was little to be gained from saying more, however, and turning, he led the way up the well-worn path to the village. Setting her pace to follow him, she treaded along behind him.
The view was spectacular. The village was positioned on a cliff overlooking Mohawk fields and the Mohawk River, which flowed and gurgled over rocks and boulders in an ever-continuing cascade of white waves. In the distance, mountains and hills, rich with autumn color, rose both east and west of them. Set against a blue sky, the site for the Mohawk village was surrounded by breathtaking beauty.
It gave her hope. Surely people who appreciated such aesthetics couldn’t be completely savage.
The first sight of the village that met her view was that of a wooden stockade. Sharp wooden poles, driven into the ground and tied at the top, enclosed the village.
The entrance to the town was unusual as well, consisting of overlapping logs instead of a gate. At this entrance was yet another outpost. Men stood there, heavily armed.
At the sight, Marisa cringed. But Black Eagle, who was in the lead, couldn’t see her reaction. He paid the guards no attention. Marisa, however, was having second thoughts about the wisdom of coming to Black Eagle’s home. What had seemed a good idea a few days previous was, in the flesh, rather daunting.
Black Eagle turned back toward her. “Are you ready?”
What could she say? There was no possibility of retreat. Not only could she not find her way back through the forest, but she had nowhere to go. Black Eagle was right. Albany was no longer safe for her.
All she could do in response to Black Eagle’s query was to smile, and say, “Ready? Indeed, I fear I am not. But lead on.”
He returned her smile and added a wink. “Come.”
Chapter Twenty-One
A sentry post consisting of a lean-to set atop four sturdy poles sat at the inside position of the stockade’s entrance. However, instead of a gate that opened and closed, the village entrance was made up of overlapping rows of spiked poles. Men stood on guard here; they were big, dangerous-looking men, heavily armed. That each of them stared at her, not in greeting but as though she were an enemy, was intimidating.
Marisa gazed at them, then away, swallowing hard. A quick look forward had her noting that she was lagging behind Black Eagle, and she hurried toward him. As she and Black Eagle rounded the corner of the overlapping logs, the village at last came into view.
Like a scene gradually opening up before her, she first noticed colors: the greens of crops and grass; the browns of dried grass and buildings; the oranges, yellows and golds of produce, as well as the various tree leaves littering the ground. The village was not without beauty.