by Karen Kay
It felt warmer here also, and it was a busy place, though oddly quiet. Women sat in groups, working and talking softly. Scantily dressed children were running freely, playing and speaking to each other, but even they were not overly loud. Older children were seated around their elders, helping with the work. There was drumming in the background, but it was muffled, as though coming from within a building.
There was a definite scent of smoke in the air, as well as the farm-rich fragrance of corn, beans and husks. Somewhere in the village, someone was barbecuing meat, or perhaps it was a soup that she smelled. Whatever it was, Marisa’s taste buds came alive. Her stomach growled, reminding her that the steady diet of dried meat she had been consuming was not the only food to be had.
She and Black Eagle were pacing down what appeared to be a major street. Here and there, trees and other flora decorated each side of the passageway, adding yet another layer of beauty to the enclosed village. Interestingly, except for the manner in which the people were dressed and the fact that they were obviously of a different race than she, the Mohawk village might have looked like a village anywhere.
Along the street were a few log cabins, but mostly the buildings consisted of very long structures, which appeared to be made of logs and bark. In many aspects, she thought they resembled barns.
Glancing under her lashes from one side of the street to the other, she noticed that conversations stopped when she passed and that many curious glances followed her. Although no one overtly stared at her, she could feel their eyes upon her as she walked by them.
Through it all, a thought kept running through her mind, one she couldn’t shake.
Will I be required to run the gauntlet?
Black Eagle had said no, but could he prevent others from seeking vengeance upon her? If he had needed to run the gauntlet in order to be adopted into the Abenaki tribe, might that fate not be her own?
Briefly, Marisa shut her eyes and swallowed hard.
Suddenly, and perhaps without cause, she felt as though she could not have been more on display if she had been walking naked through the village. To counter the feeling, she kept close on Black Eagle’s heels. Perhaps too close.
A few times, she came so near to him that she tripped him. But he said nothing. Instead, he merely turned to her and smiled, as though to give her courage.
At last they came to a particular longhouse where Black Eagle stopped. She was staring at the odd-looking bark structure when Black Eagle turned to her and said, “Remain here. I will be gone a moment only.”
Marisa nodded, but she must have looked as worried as she felt, for he added, “No one will hurt you. You will see.”
Again, she nodded, but as he left her to enter the dwelling, she began to wring her hands.
A child dressed in a heavily embroidered garment of dark blue, came up beside Marisa and chattered in a language that was familiar, the sound much like the tongue which was spoken in the North. Yet it was still a language that Marisa didn’t understand. Indeed, so ill at ease was she that at first Marisa didn’t realize the girl was speaking to her, causing her to pay the little girl no attention.
The child, however, was persistent, and pulled on Marisa’s dress. At last, Marisa came to realize that the girl was speaking to her, and at last, she gave the little one her attention, noticing that except for a different manner of dressing, the girl looked like children everywhere. Two braids were caught at the sides of the child’s face, and in her arms was a corn-husk doll whose head was missing a face.
The child was prattling off words at such a rate that Marisa felt slightly dizzy. She also offered Marisa her doll, which Marisa steadfastly refused to take. Marisa made the effort to show the girl that she didn’t understand her words, but it seemed useless. The little girl persevered, pushing her doll into Marisa’s hands.
At some length, Black Eagle returned and spoke to the child, then said to Marisa, “She welcomes you to her village. You’d best take the doll. To not do so is an insult.”
“Oh.” At last Marisa accepted the child’s gift. “Would you tell her thank you for me?”
“Nyah-weh,” he said to the child.
The girl smiled, and leaning in close, placed her hand within Marisa’s.
“I think you’ve made a friend. Come,” said Black Eagle. “I will introduce you to my grandmother.”
“Your grandmother? No!” Marisa gasped, and held back. “I am a little afraid of her. Besides, do you wish to have me meet her without even changing my clothing or bathing first?”
“She will understand that we have had a long journey. Come.”
“No! Not so soon.” Marisa sighed, wishing she were anywhere else but here. Nor could she force herself to follow Black Eagle.
He stepped toward her, and taking a lock of her hair within his fingers, Black Eagle studied it as though he had never seen her hair beneath the direct rays of the sun. “Even unbathed and with clothes torn and dirty, you are the most beautiful woman I have known. Yours is a beauty, not only of the physical realm, but also of the heart. You have nothing to fear. My grandmother will be pleased to help you bathe and to change. She will be honored.” Black Eagle paused. “There will be a council tonight to decide what clan will have the distinction of becoming your new family.”
“My new family?” Marisa felt a little dizzy. “I know you said something about that, but I…I don’t understand. Why do I need a new family? Please tell me again. I thought I was to stay with you.”
“We will be together, but to have your own family—a family that is not mine—is for your benefit. While you could live with my clan, you might find that matters are not always to your liking.”
Marisa’s head was starting to hurt, and she took a step backward. Her own family? Adoption? A clan?
Shaking her head, she said, “Please, Black Eagle. I must apologize if I seem ungrateful, but I don’t understand why we couldn’t simply have our own home, our own house.”
He nodded toward the longhouses. “We could, but we would seem odd here in my village. We Iroquois call ourselves the Haudenosaunee, or the People of the Longhouse. No two people here in our village live alone. We all reside in the longhouse of our separate clans.”
“Married people, children, elders, all reside with each other in the same house?”
“It is so. Each has his own quarters within the longhouse, however, and no one would ever think to disturb a person in his own part of the house.”
“I see.” Slowly Marisa let out her breath. She still had questions, and she argued, “But if all this is so, why couldn’t I come and live with your clan instead of being adopted by people I don’t know and have never met?”
“Because it would be unfair to you. It is true that we could live this way and no one would prevent it, but you might become unhappy.”
“Unhappy? Unfair to me? How can that be? It seems natural to me to live with your husband’s people.”
“It might seem so at first, but all deeds, all political entities here in my village are based on family or clan. What if we were to have an argument? Who would you go home to? Who would take your side? While it is true that there may be someone within my clan who might aid you, there could as easily be no one. But if you have your own family, it is certain that you will find a champion with them. They will treat you well. I promise.” Black Eagle smiled at her, and bending toward her, he whispered in her ear, “I know it is all strange to you, but you must persevere through this. Good things will come from this. You will see.” He planted a kiss on the delicate flesh of her ear. Then straightening, he said, “Come. I think my elders will insist that a ceremony take place today. My grandmother will help you. It seems that Pretty Ribbon has decided to help you, also.”
“Pretty Ribbon? Is that the child’s name?”
He nodded.
“Pretty Ribbon. What a fascinating name.” S
he smiled at the child. “Very well. But couldn’t someone else besides your grandmother help me? I fear her.”
“No. You would dishonor her.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t want that. But, Black Eagle, this is not easy, and I am worried about what is to happen to me.”
“I know you are. But I am here.” He smiled at her, and so handsome was the look of him, her heart lurched into her throat. It was a half-grin he gave her, and although she realized he meant it as goodwill and to bolster her spirits, his smile was incredibly sexy. It served to remind her not only how much she loved this man, but how much she trusted him.
Squeezing her hand, he repeated, “I am here.” Turning to again take the lead, Black Eagle escorted her deeper into the village, with the little girl, Pretty Ribbon, holding Marisa’s hand and skipping along beside her.
“Grandmother, this is my wife, Ahweyoh. Ahweyoh, my grandmother, Blue Necklace.”
Black Eagle, who was already holding her hand, urged Marisa to stand beside him. Marisa took the few steps necessary to bring herself forward, and to the side of Black Eagle. She smiled gently at the woman.
“How do you do?” asked Marisa politely.
The woman, who was perhaps sixty or more years of age, didn’t respond, nor did she smile. Worse, she eyed Marisa as if Marisa were the rotten apple in the barrel. But she said nothing.
Black Eagle didn’t seem to notice. “I am assuming that my brother has told you about our adventures.”
The woman nodded.
Ah, thought Marisa, she understands English, even if she might not speak it.
“There is to be an adoption ceremony at dusk,” he continued in English, “and we shall be married here soon after.”
The older woman pursed her lips, as though in anger. But when she spoke, her words were soft, if distinct. “You…long on road…bathe first…then dress.”
“Nyoh,” said Black Eagle. “I would be much indebted, since she has no family here yet to care for her.”
“You…go.” The woman shooed Black Eagle away with her hands.
Black Eagle needed no further encouragement. With a smile and a wink at Marisa, he left posthaste.
Marisa watched Black Eagle’s disappearing back with some misgiving. True, she didn’t fear for her life in the hands of this woman, but her disapproval was, to Marisa, without doubt.
“You…” she pointed to Marisa, “…come.”
Blue Necklace turned her back on Marisa, although she did look over her shoulder to ensure that Marisa followed. Marisa, because she had little choice, did as expected and demurely followed Blue Necklace. Soon the little girl, Pretty Ribbon, took up pace beside Marisa and flounced along, happily talking to her doll.
Blue Necklace led her to a private bathing spot, and as soon as Marisa took off the various pieces of her clothing, Blue Necklace set to washing them, hanging them to dry. Marisa scrubbed herself with sand from the bottom of the stream, watching as Black Eagle’s grandmother placed fresh garments, Indian made, out for Marisa’s inspection.
She awaited Marisa to finish her bath, and though she said not a word, Marisa felt as though the woman had no patience with her. At last, however, she became cold, and could no longer stay in the water. As soon as Marisa arose from the water, Blue Necklace was there with a towel, which she wrapped around Marisa, it being big enough to cover her completely. Next Blue Necklace began plaiting Marisa’s hair.
Marisa was intrigued to realize that the plaiting of her hair was pleasant. She relaxed.
“You should know that I love him with all my heart,” Marisa told Blue Necklace as if the older woman had asked. “I promise that if it is within my realm to do so, I will not get in the way of his helping his people.”
She hadn’t needed to say the words necessarily, but she’d wanted to. If it were in her power, she would have Black Eagle’s grandmother know that her love for Black Eagle was real, and that she would help him in any way she could so that he would not fail his people.
Blue Necklace paused in her ministrations. Glancing over her shoulder, Marisa could see that the older woman had sat back on her heels.
“His mother die…when…young…I…raise him and…brother and sisters. He is…wise, brave…and can…do much…for…people. I…thank you…for speaking. Come…dress…ready for…you.”
Blue Necklace took Marisa’s hand and led her to the exquisite Indian costume Marisa had seen earlier. The dress was simple, made of trade cloth, but what fashioned the dress to be so handsome was the intricate embroidery that had been accomplished over most of the dress’s surface. Its basic color was gold, with threads of blue and green and red sewn directly onto the gown, producing figures of water lilies.
It is as though the gown were created especially for me.
The sleeves were puffed at the shoulder and fell just below the elbow, and the bodice fit tightly. It, too, was embroidered with green and blue thread. Similarly made leggings fell down to moccasins, which matched the dress.
Most amazing to Marisa, however, was that the gown fit.
“Weh-yeh!” said Blue Necklace.
Marisa shook her head.
“Beau-ti-ful…you…”
“Nyah-weh, thank you,” said Marisa, and she smiled.
“You…come…” Blue Necklace took hold of Marisa’s hand and led Marisa from the stream, back into the palisaded village and along the main pathway that led through the village to the longhouse where Black Eagle had first taken her.
“Come.” Again Blue Necklace urged Marisa along with her, and lifting the bark door of the longhouse, she brought Marisa into the inner sanctum of the long room.
It was darker on the inside than Marisa had thought it might be, since the only light appeared to be from either the doorway or the smoke holes at the top of the structure. There were no windows.
The corridor led from one end of the structure to the other, and as the name implied, it was long. There were hearths set in regular intervals down that corridor, spaced perhaps twenty feet apart. At present, a few of the older women were seated around those fires, tending to them, and many of these women were holding children in their laps.
It was a busy place, and a little noisier than the outside of the building, since small children ran to and fro. There were also drums beating and men singing. Incredibly, there was also the distinct buzz of conversation, which made the space seem homey.
Glancing around, Marisa estimated that the longhouse was probably one hundred feet long and maybe thirty feet wide. It was a tall structure, perhaps twenty feet high. As Blue Necklace led Marisa down the main passageway, Marisa noted that on each side of the corridor were separate compartments, each partitioned off from the next with sheets of bark. There were corncobs strung up to dry here and there, gourds that had been set in neat rows on the floor and cooking utensils and other articles stored neatly next to the hearth.
Smoke holes in the ceiling let the smoke from the many fires escape, yet not all of the smoke left, for the interior was still smoky and warm. Plus, there was food cooking, and Marisa was hard-pressed to contain her excitement. Were they going to eat?
About five hearths deep into the longhouse, which was almost at the far end of the building, Blue Necklace signaled to Marisa to take a seat, which Marisa did at once. Blue Necklace then heaped upon a plate as many corncobs, corn cakes, ribs and succotash as Marisa indicated she desired. It was a feast. It smelled delicious, and it tasted even better.
Blue Necklace watched her carefully, her gaze intent, yet unsmiling, and although she allowed Marisa as much time as she needed to satisfy her appetite, as soon as Marisa finished her meal, Blue Necklace escorted her out of the longhouse, bringing her to the central point of the village.
People had gathered here. Though her back was toward it, she knew the sun had journeyed to the west, if only because its orange and pinkish rays wer
e coloring the dried grasses at her feet. In the distance, fires had been lit. Women were busy cooking a celebration feast…for her. Men were speaking, one after the other, but none of the words were in English, and Marisa had no way of knowing what was being said. Once again, Marisa felt as if she were the center of attention, especially so since her place was apparently to be next to the speakers. What was being said? Did any of it have to do with her? Most likely, but at least none of the words seemed angry.
Time passed, and when no actions of aggression were taken against her, Marisa began to study her audience. There were hundreds of people here, each one dark haired and dark skinned. A predominance of the men wore the Mohawk hairstyle proudly. However, there were other men who had cultivated their hair to long lengths, although these men tended to be older.
The women appeared to favor three different hairstyles, either letting the hair hang loose and long, or wearing two braids at the side of their face or one braid down the back.
What set this meeting apart from any town meeting she had ever attended was that every person here seemed inordinately interested in what was taking place. No one interrupted the speakers, and no one spoke when another was talking. Nor did their attention seem to waver.
Then she saw him. Black Eagle was winding his way through the crowd, toward her. At last here was a familiar face, someone dear to her. She felt herself come alive, and her heart warmed to him.
He was wearing what appeared to be white buckskin, heavily fringed and decorated with flowing patterns of beadwork. Over his jacket, he wore a beaded baldric and in his hand was his ever-present musket. He still wore pouches of ammunition strung over his shoulder with straps, and in one of his sashes was his tomahawk. His leggings were skintight and fell down to cover his moccasins. His step was light, and reflected in his eyes was a keen intelligence, one she recognized so very well. He was looking directly at her, and his gaze was soft, gentle.
As he drew level with her, he smiled, and murmured, “Have you understood what is happening here?”