by Karen Kay
“No. I fear I have not,” she whispered back.
“Then let me tell you what is occurring. You are being adopted by a family of the Turtle Clan.”
“The Turtle Clan?”
“Nyoh, yes. Look outward from here. Do you see the four people lined up there to your right?”
She nodded.
“This is your new family. I am here to introduce you to them, one by one, but I think you know one of them already.”
As an ancient-looking woman stepped forward, a little girl caught on her arm. It was Pretty Ribbon, who had befriended her almost as soon as she had stepped foot inside the village. Marisa was at once delighted.
“This is your clan mother,” spoke Black Eagle. “She is the matron of the Turtle Clan.”
The two women acknowledged each other with a nod, and the clan mother presented Marisa with a gift of corn. Marisa graciously accepted it.
“You already know Pretty Ribbon, and behind Pretty Ribbon is her mother, Rainbow, and Pretty Ribbon’s elder sister, Laughing Maid. You are replacing their brother, who was lost recently in Sir Johnson’s battle with the French.”
“I’m to replace a brother?”
“Nyoh, yes. Taking another’s place does not require you to be of the same sex.”
“How fascinating.” Marisa smiled and nodded to her new sisters. Pretty Ribbon could not long keep her enthusiasm to herself, and Marisa squeezed her hand as the child placed it within her own.
Laughing Maid, the elder sister, stepped forward, and in her arms was a wooden tray full of food. With some ceremony and words that Marisa could not understand, she placed the tray in Marisa’s free hand. Again, Marisa accepted the gift, but as soon as she had an opportunity, she murmured to Black Eagle beneath her breath, “What are all these gifts about?”
“Your family and I are ensuring your safety. First you required a new family. And now that you have that family, we are to marry.”
“We are to marry?”
“Yes, you and I.”
“On the same day that I am adopted by people I little know? Is this not happening a little fast?”
“It is considered necessary. No one here is foolish enough to consider that we have not indulged in lovemaking. And they do not know that the monks took the time to marry us there. All they see is that we are in love, and we have been much alone. Therefore, your family thinks it best that a marriage takes place between us with all possible speed. Already your family acts in your behalf.”
Marisa had barely enough time to digest this information, when Blue Necklace stepped forward to place a tray full of food into Black Eagle’s hands.
Black Eagle inclined his head toward his grandmother, then said to Marisa, “And now we exchange these food trays, and when we do, we are married. Are you ready?”
Marisa nodded, and releasing Pretty Ribbon’s hand so she could hold the trays without dropping them, Marisa exchanged her tray with Black Eagle’s. Black Eagle let out a deep breath and smiled at her. “And now you are my wife in the eyes of all my people.”
“Wife,” she repeated, almost to herself.
Staring into his dark, dark eyes, it occurred to her that her life had taken a sharp turn. However, from all indications it seemed that it might be a turn for the better. Only time would tell.
At least she had a family who appeared to want her and a husband who loved her. As Black Eagle had once said, she had a new life.
Marisa was touched by the kindness of these people, and she might not have been quite human were there not a tear or two at the backs of her eyes. But she didn’t cry. Instead, she smiled. It was not lost on her that this was the first time she had done so since coming into the village.
All she said to her new husband, however, was, “I love you.”
Nonetheless, it might have been an eloquent speech, for his reaction was a heartwarming smile, and taking her on his arm, he led her away, toward their new home in the longhouse of the Turtle Clan.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After a month in the Mohawk village, life had settled into a routine. To the mornings fell the activities of collecting water and food preparation. There was corn to grind into flour, berries to be picked and dried, stews and soups to be made. Black Eagle often added to her chores, as well, by bringing home game. It had to be cleaned, cut up and eaten, or dried for storage.
Afternoons passed leisurely in much the same way. Chores took a dominant role, but helping hands were many, and always the women chatted delightfully. The time passed quickly.
And then there were the evenings. Marisa looked forward to the nights. Usually the evening hours started with a wash and a swim in the river. Then it was back to the longhouse to eat and sit around the fire with family. Mostly, many evenings meant cuddling with Black Eagle.
At present both Marisa and her sister, Laughing Maid, were returning from their twilight swim, where they had played a rousing game of ball. A slight chill filled the air, a warning that winter was not far behind, but Marisa was laughing and drying her hair, as was Laughing Maid.
“I hear that your husband has returned with another deer,” said Laughing Maid in the Iroquois tongue.
“Another one? It has only been a matter of days since I cleaned the last one,” Marisa replied in the same tongue. It was interesting that when one had good reason, one could quickly learn to converse in another language.
“I think your husband is very daring. He goes out alone many times, which is unusual. I think he is trying to show you he is a good provider.”
“Nyoh, I believe you are right, although he has no need to try to impress me. He will always be a hero to me.”
“A hero. Yes. Do you think you could tell the story again tonight? The story of how he rescued you so many times?”
“I could try, although he tells it better than I do. There are some parts I don’t remember well.”
“That is to be understood. Once you almost drowned. And another time, you were almost killed by an Ottawa. But if you tell it while we work, I could help you to skin and clean the deer as I listen.”
“That would be very well indeed, but can you spare the time?”
“The harvest is done, and since we have more than enough food to last us through the winter, most of my work is over. I have little to do but wait for the Harvest Festival.”
“The Harvest Festival. Yes, I’ve heard others talking about it. What happens at the Harvest Festival?”
“You will like it. It is the time when we thank the ‘three sisters’—corn, squash and beans. During the day, many of our wisest men will give speeches of thanksgiving. And at night, there will be dances and games. Few people sleep, for the fun goes on the night through. Truly, you will like it.”
“I’m sure I will,” said Marisa. “Is there anything special I should do for it?”
“You can help with the food preparation. There will be much feasting. And at night, you can wear your best dress. The evenings are when lovers meet and plan their futures.”
“Ah, but I already spend most evenings with my husband.”
“Yes, but you will still need a special dress. I will help you with that.”
“That would be most pleasing.” Marisa fell into step with Laughing Maid.
As the two women approached the village, they were met by Pretty Ribbon, who came immediately to Marisa’s side and took her hand.
“Sister, I made this for you.” Pretty Ribbon presented Marisa with a bouquet of wildflowers tied together with a piece of bark.
“Oh, they’re beautiful.” Marisa bent down to give the little girl a kiss. “How lucky I am that you are my sister.” She hugged her tightly.
Under the compliment, Pretty Ribbon beamed. “The clan mother says that if I ask you, I might be able to try on your white man’s clothes. Then we can see how I might look if I were a whit
e person.”
“Ah, but you have no need to be a white person. You are perfect exactly as you are.” Oddly enough, Marisa meant it. It had been a little over four weeks now that she had been adopted into the Mohawk tribe, and Marisa would have been hard-pressed to recall a happier time in her life.
Although it was true that an Indian woman’s work was hard and constant, it was never daunting. One was not harassed to do more than she could easily do, and there were always so many helping hands if one fell behind. To add to her pleasure, Pretty Ribbon had become Marisa’s almost constant companion, and interestingly it was the little girl who had helped Marisa to learn the language.
“I would still like to try them on,” coaxed Pretty Ribbon.
“And so you shall. Come, let us return home. I am told that my husband is back from hunting and that he has brought in even more deer meat.”
“He has,” agreed Pretty Ribbon. “May I help you to feed him?”
“Of course you can. Come, let’s hurry.” Marisa took her sisters’ hands. “Do you want to race?”
Laughing Maid grinned, but Pretty Ribbon wasn’t too keen. “I am too little. I always lose.”
“Yes,” observed Laughing Maid, “but look at how hard you try. You are faster than any of the other girls your age.”
“I am?”
“Nyoh. Yes, you are.”
That decided it. “Then let us race.” Smiling up at her two sisters, Pretty Ribbon urged, “Go!”
With much laughing, the three sisters flew on home, and surprisingly enough, Pretty Ribbon won.
Blue Necklace touched her grandson’s shoulder.
“Your wife is beautiful,” she said to Black Eagle in their own language. “But she might become unhappy, I fear, because our ways are so different from hers.”
Respect for his grandmother kept Black Eagle silent. He wouldn’t talk back to her, even though he would have done so if the person had been anyone else.
“Certainly she loves you,” she continued, “but if the English find her here, they will take her from you. If you wish to remain married to her, you must guard against any English discovering her here.” Blue Necklace had been standing behind Black Eagle, but she moved to pace around and face him, taking a seat in front of him.
“You disapprove of her, then?”
“Was there ever a doubt that I might?” Blue Necklace sighed. “But no, I do not. She is clearly in love with you, and if the English can be persuaded to leave her alone, she will make you a fine wife. But I charge you to keep her happy.” Looking away from him for a moment, she changed the subject. “Did you speak to the chiefs in Kahnawake?”
“I did. But they forget their pledge to the English. It is in their hearts to side with the French, and I could not persuade them away from that path.”
“It is as I feared. We have no other option, grandson, than to cease this fighting. It will be the end of our people if we take up arms against each other. I would ask that you stop aiding the English in this fight. Perhaps we might be able to lead our people by example.”
“Perhaps.”
“You will do it, then? You will withdraw your support for this war and try to influence our people to do the same?”
Black Eagle sighed. “My friend William Johnson will not understand, and I might lose his friendship.”
Blue Necklace acknowledged this with a slight incline of her head. “That may be true, but is it not better to lose that friendship than to see Mohawk take up arms against Mohawk?”
“Nyoh, yes. You are right.”
“You will do it, then? You will stop all this fighting and work to influence others to bury the hatchet with their brothers in the north, also?”
“I will.”
“Johnson will do all he can to involve you in this war, and you may find yourself wanting to break this vow.”
“Yes, he will, but I have now given you my word that I will not be swayed, though there may be many reasons to do so. I agree with you that our people must not fight each other, and so to this end I will do all I can to bring this unhappy affair to an end.”
“Thank you, grandson.” Blue Necklace stood, but before she turned away, she added, “Should it become a problem, you and she might journey to the Seneca in the West. If you do go there, lead those people well, my grandson. And remember that if you keep her happy, she will make you a good wife.”
Black Eagle nodded. “It is in my mind to do exactly that.”
Was she happy?
As Black Eagle stood next to his fellow runners on the race track, he chanced to look toward the sidelines, catching his wife’s eye. He witnessed her smile, and he returned it, watching her even when she glanced away.
She seemed happy with her life here, but he was aware that his village provided a life greatly different than what her own had been. Could she be content here with him? Without all the abundant wealth to which she was accustomed? Or would there come a time when she would yearn for the company of her own people? Material things?
He wished desperately that he had been able to find and save Miss Sarah from the falls. Her loss had come at a bad time, not only because she had earned his respect, but because she deserved better than to die at the hands of a traitor.
That she would have provided good company for his wife was also reason to lament her loss. Hopefully his wife’s new sister, Laughing Maid, would render companionship for Ahweyoh, as well. That Pretty Ribbon was enamored with her new sister was also evident. The child rarely left Ahweyoh’s side. Nonetheless, he worried. Was it enough? He hoped so, for he was committed to her.
Bringing his attention back to the present, he noticed that Ahweyoh had raised her glance to meet his and was now staring back at him with such blatant seduction that Black Eagle was stunned at first, yet he responded, as any healthy male might. Instantly his loins stirred to life, reminding him that he had the entire evening to hold his wife in his arms, if he wished to wait that long.
However, this was not a good thought to recall at the start of a footrace. He needed his wits about him if he were to win. And it was important that he win. After all, his family had placed bets on his success.
Shaking his head, he turned around, presenting the people on the sidelines with his back, as he endeavored to calm his body and bring his attention toward the matter at hand. The fields had been cleared for the race. Later, the same ground would be used in the game of lacrosse. He would be involved in that game too.
But for now, he had to concentrate. He wished to win this race, not only for himself and his reputation, but also to impress his wife. He sighed. She seemed to always be in his thoughts.
It was the second day of the Harvest Festival, the first day having been rained out. Today, however, had dawned warm, clear and bright.
Marisa stood on the outskirts of the footrace. Black Eagle was there, stripped of all his clothes, save his breechcloth and moccasins, as were all of the participants. But none looked better or stronger than Black Eagle. Indeed, when he caught her eye, she smiled, then looked down, feeling self-conscious. But why?
After several weeks of being in the camp, she had observed a certain independence in the Mohawk women. They were not a timid people, nor were they cowed by their men or subservient to them. While never encroaching on a man’s realm nor detracting from his natural strength or power, the women retained much strength of their own.
Perhaps she had some of that grit too. Setting her shoulders back, she brushed her hair from her face and looked up at Black Eagle once more. She smiled, presenting him with silent seduction. Gone was her reserve, and quite deliberately she bestowed upon Black Eagle what had to be a sensuous look. She watched, then, as he so obviously received her intent, watched also a part of his body that was not within his conscious control twitch to life. Fortunately for her, but unfortunately for him, the breechcloth he wore provided lit
tle cover.
She grinned, feeling extremely feminine yet powerful in her own right. His reaction was exactly what she had hoped for, but what she hadn’t counted on was an answering response that echoed within her.
“Your husband is the fastest runner in all the Mohawk Nation,” Laughing Maid said. All three sisters stood together at the side of the track. As was becoming commonplace, Pretty Ribbon was hanging on to Marisa’s hand.
“The fastest runner? Truly?”
“Nyoh, we will see today if he will hold on to the honor. Look, they are about to begin.”
A shot fired, and all the men who were participating in the race leapt forward. The crowd around her sent up cheers. At first, Black Eagle lagged behind several of the others, but it wasn’t long before he started to pull ahead.
“Go, Black Eagle!” she cried in English, adding her voice to the shouts of those around her.
All the runners disappeared into a valley. Momentarily, the participants were hidden from view.
The track was long, perhaps a two- or three-mile run. Several fields had been cleared to make the track, and later today it would be used for other games as well. However, these fields dipped into and out of the forests, and this made the race more interesting to the runners, but difficult for the spectators. The track did make a large circle that would eventually bring the runners back to the starting point, which was also the finishing line. But that didn’t make the spectator’s anxiety less.
“Look there!”
“I see them!”
The runners were coming back, headed toward them from the opposite direction. Who was in the lead? Was it Black Eagle? She edged forward, straining to see.
It was Black Eagle in the lead, along with another youth, one whose name she had never learned. The two were coming toward the finish line neck and neck.
As they sped across that line, it was evident that Black Eagle won. But he had done so only by a nose. The youth had been right on his heels.
The crowd yelled and cheered, and several well-wishers rushed forward to congratulate not only Black Eagle, but the youth who had put him to the test. Among them was a beautiful young Indian woman. Marisa took note.