Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 17

by Kelly Link Gavin J. Grant

  "You're teaching them how to shoot?” he asked.

  "Are you deaf?” Then she looked at his ear.

  His ear was just one of the many things about his face that people felt they must look at.

  "A bear thought it might taste good for lunch,” he said.

  "A bear would have taken more than that for lunch. I'm not a fool."

  He didn't think she was. But it was the truth. “OK, let's see. I lost it in a fight."

  "See, a little truth never hurts."

  "Then how about this truth. You're a foolish woman to walk about in these woods with nothing more than a corn stick. What if I had been Abenaki? They'd love a pretty thing like you."

  She set her jaw at that and walked up ahead of him and stayed there the rest of the way.

  * * * *

  Iron Wood's village was medium-sized for Iroquois villages and sat in the middle of twenty acres of cleared land. They burned the forest here many years ago. It would not be long before they would have to burn another place and move the village there. The land only lasted so long before it failed.

  The village was encircled by two wooden palisades 14 feet high. Inside that ring stood ten great longhouses and a number of smaller ones. Jan hailed the warrior keeping guard over this entrance, and then led the boys to Iron Wood's longhouse.

  Just this walk through the village would shame them.

  When he arrived at the longhouse, a girl ran inside. A moment later the Wise Mother of the clan stepped out. She wore a fine blue soldier's jacket, French cut with brass buttons.

  "May the sun favor your crops,” he said.

  She looked at the boys and back to Jan.

  "May you have corn in season,” she said. “What have you brought me, One Who Keeps Them Awake?"

  "Beavers,” he said. “And boys who need learning."

  "Hummm,” she said. “Let us talk in private.” She led the boys and Jan into the longhouse.

  They talked long and Jan agreed that they should deliver double the number of beavers stolen or the equivalent in wampum.

  Jan actually preferred the wampum because the Iroquois and many of the trappers used it as coin. You could carry a tidy sum in nothing more than a sack. Of course, that also made it easier to steal. It had been his wampum that his last wife stole.

  He told Crow Child he'd bring him back a musket if he delivered by next spring. And he'd warned him not to steal any of it, beavers or wampum, from anyone else. The boy promised. It was a fair penance, but one that would bring esteem to Crow Child if he kept it.

  Jan could have asked for some physical punishment, but it was unwise for traders to make any enemies among his sources. Those boys would grow up, and Iron Wood's son might become the next Sachem.

  During the conversation he also found out the Mohawk called the English woman Bright Waters. They said she'd been taken from the Abenaki.

  She must have been a slave to the Abenaki. No wonder she had gotten prickly when he mentioned that. But then she was twice the fool to be walking about with nothing more than a corn stick. He didn't want to think what the devils had done with her. Unless, of course, she had been held for ransom. Then they would have left her unmolested. Otherwise, he hoped they'd taken her when she was a child.

  She should have been Iron Wood's property. But she had bartered almost a year's lessons in English and muskets for her freedom.

  Jan suspected there was more to it than that. Iron Wood probably knew owning her would anger his English allies. They would have made him give her up eventually. So he got what he could. And knowing English would place Iron Wood in a better position to trade and negotiate. Och, but Iron Wood was smart.

  * * * *

  On his way out of the village Jan stopped by Crazy Rabbit's longhouse. Iron Wood was the war Sachem. But Crazy Rabbit was the peace Sachem. It didn't matter who currently ruled, a trapper needed to have good relations with both Sachems if he wanted to trade with a village. Jan always gave Crazy Rabbit first look at the goods he traded.

  Crazy Rabbit was not there, but his wife Willow was.

  "Ah, One Who Keeps Them Awake,” she said. “I'm about to eat succotash with venison."

  "And maple syrup?” asked Jan.

  "Of course,” she said. “Come sit and tell me if you have a son. Or better yet, a daughter."

  She wanted one of his children to marry into her family. “Neither,” said Jan.

  "Barren?"

  "Well, she never stayed around long enough for me to find out."

  Willow clucked and shook her head. “Huron cannot be trusted. I told you."

  Jan shrugged.

  "Why don't you come into my family? I have daughters and granddaughters that would keep you warm. You can have your pick. Mix your blood with that of a real human and I cannot imagine the sons you'd grow. My warriors would be the talk of the five nations."

  "It's a great honor,” he said. She'd invited him into her family before. “But you know I cannot."

  "Bah!” she said. “I do not want to hear your excuses. You are wasting your seed. Lie with one of my daughters. Sons with your strength, your orenda, would send the Abenaki and Huron running for the caves."

  He considered her offer the first time. She thought the orenda, the spirit that was in all things, made him large and quick. But he could not lie with her daughters. Not that he was the most pious man. But fornication was clearly forbidden by the Holy Word. If Jan's grandfather could die by the hands of Catholic armies for his beliefs, Jan could certainly keep his urges buttoned up.

  He would not marry into her family and become part of her longhouse. And it was her longhouse. The Iroquois were strange this way. They traced their genealogy through their mothers. The mothers ruled the longhouses. The Wise Mothers of each clan chose the Sachem. But it wasn't just that the mothers controlled everything on a local level. He wasn't against a woman ruler. After all, many a land had been ruled by a queen.

  The problem was that he would then be a Mohawk. He would have to fight their wars and live here in this village. He didn't want to live in a European settlement. Why would he want to live here?

  "My guardian spirit tells me not to,” he said.

  "I do not like your guardian spirit then."

  "I'll marry someday,” he said. “And then we shall see.” And perhaps he wouldn't marry. It seemed the good Lord wanted to make a monk out of him whether he was Protestant or not.

  Jan ate his succotash and told her the story of a German man who awoke one morning to find his cow wearing his pants. Then he told her about Ulysses and the sirens. She always asked for his stories. They all did. That was how he had gotten his name.

  "That's a powerful magic,” she said. “We have a powerful magic. Perhaps it is time to use it on you to help you find a wife."

  Jan suspected she wanted a medicine woman to come chant over him.

  "I will call the bone breaker to help you find a wife."

  "I don't need magic,” he said. The last thing he needed was an Indian witch placing some curse on him. “No amount of blowing tobacco smoke in my face is going to make me any prettier."

  Her brows furrowed.

  "You won't give me sons. You won't take my magic. Maybe the One Who Keeps Them Awake does not want to trade with this village anymore."

  Was she threatening to prevent him from trading? She could influence the council. She was Crazy Rabbit's wife and the mother of the turtle clan. There were others they traded with, but Iron Wood's village traded with him the most.

  He decided she was threatening him.

  "What do you propose?"

  "A small tattoo."

  A tattoo? That was all?

  "Where?” he asked.

  "Here,” she said and poked him beside his eye.

  It was only a tattoo. And it would secure her good will, at least for one season. However, he was convinced that nothing but God's grace would produce him a wife. “Fine,” he said. “As long as it comes with more of your succotash."
<
br />   * * * *

  Jan slept in Willow's longhouse that night. The next morning a very old mother came into the tent. Tattoo lines and triangles crisscrossed her forehead and cheeks. Tattoo spiders clung to each of her index fingers.

  "This is our healing woman,” said Willow.

  Jan had never seen her. But the village held about 700 people. Maybe he'd missed her. It was possible.

  "I know you,” she said. “I dreamed about you."

  Jan doubted that. These Indians were always trying to read meaning into their dreams. They could dream of horse farts and still think some guardian spirit was trying to communicate with them.

  She uncovered a bowl of pigment that smelled bitter. She made him sit on the ground next to the fire. Then she placed a small white bone in a clay pot and placed the pot in the coals.

  "Where's your awl?” asked Jan.

  "Shush,” she said. Then she lit a pipe and blew smoke in his and Willow's faces. After that she chanted for quite some time in an unfamiliar language.

  Jan was wondering if she was going to chant all afternoon, when she took the hot bone out of the pot and broke it. She changed her chant and, with the sharp points of the bone as an awl, scraped the pigment into his skin.

  It burned. But he told himself it would only make him more acceptable to the clans.

  The old mother finally stopped her scraping and chanting and sat back and watched him.

  Willow wore a huge grin. She gave him a small looking glass, then rose and left the longhouse.

  What he saw was a bright red line that spiraled around itself five times. It's small tail connected with the corner of his eye. He thought the red was his blood, but when he touched a finger to it, he realized it was the color of the pigment.

  He looked at the pigment bowl the old woman had used. It was not red.

  "Does this change color?” he asked.

  "When the orenda has run its course,” the old woman said.

  For a moment Jan wished he had not let them do this to him. But he told himself it was an investment, a piece of flesh for a good trading contact.

  A few moments later Willow returned with her thirteen-year-old daughter, Moon.

  She motioned at Jan. “What do you think?"

  Moon looked at him then shook her head and looked away.

  This was the daughter Willow offered him before. Moon had not wanted him then. She obviously did not want him now.

  Willow grimaced. She turned to the old woman who shrugged.

  Perhaps Willow thought Jan would be more agreeable if Moon showed more interest in him. If that was true, she was wrong.

  "So what's this supposed to do?” he asked.

  "Make you more appealing,” said Willow. She looked him up and down. “It's his hair, isn't it?"

  "Corn does not grow in a day,” the old woman said. “The magic will gather strength over time."

  Willow grabbed a basket with a flint knife. “But we can clear away the weeds to help it grow. With that beard and pelt on your head, you look more like an animal than a man. Let me shave it off."

  "No,” said Jan. This was exactly why he couldn't live in her longhouse. She would be telling how to blow his nose before too long. “Shave my hair and I lose my power."

  "Ah, I've heard that story from the children.” She nodded. “Then at least take some bear grease to tame it."

  "I'll ask my guardian spirit for approval,” said Jan.

  Willow frowned and shook her head.

  "I thought this was powerful magic,” said Jan.

  The old woman spoke. “We don't bend the bones of our ancestors to unnatural magics. This will not force a yearning for you upon anyone. It will simply help your beauty shine forth."

  "And nobody can see that beauty underneath an animal's hide,” said Willow. “If you cover it, you bury the magic."

  "Hair is the mantle given us by the creator,” said Jan.

  He could tell none of them believed that, but he wasn't going to shave. His hair covered his birthmark and scars. And he wasn't going to go about plastered with stinking bear grease.

  "Don't waste the orenda from those bones,” said Willow.

  "I wouldn't think of it."

  * * * *

  When Jan left the village later that day, he saw the English woman again. She was showing five children how to pack a musket.

  Perhaps she wasn't as helpless as he thought. If she had lived any amount of time with the Abenaki, she would have to know more of the woods than any number of ladies fresh off the boat from the old land.

  He watched her. She was not a proper woman. But that wasn't always a liability. She knew how to load a musket. And quickness would be good to have at your back if you needed to defend your home.

  She looked over at him.

  After a moment he realized he was simply standing there looking at her, so he waved a fare-thee-well.

  She acted like she didn't see him at all and turned back to the children.

  So much for the magic of Iroquois bones.

  Jan walked down to the path that followed the river. He wondered where she would go when her bargain was completed. One thing was for sure. She'd better go out walking with more than her courage and a corn stick next time, or she just might not fulfill her bargain. A dog and musket would be a good investment.

  * * * *

  Jan's tattoo earned him some remarks when he went into the trading post. He never told them how or why he got it. Let them guess. In the end, they made up a better story than any he could think of. He heard from LaRue that all the traders thought it was a sign of a contract between him and Iron Wood and the principal reason why they were having such a difficult time moving their goods.

  Jan replied that they all could get the tattoo if they just asked for it. Of course, it would cost them each a child.

  He trapped for the next few weeks on his own. When he came back to the settlements, he began to notice women offering him furtive glances. A few days later came unabashed smiles. He told himself that the women had always been so friendly, and he only noticed it now because of the fuss Willow made with her tattoo.

  But not long afterwards English Pete stopped him at the trading post.

  "Have you found gold then?” asked Pete.

  "Gold?” asked Jan. Why would anyone think that?

  "It's being noised about that you're preparing to build an estate."

  "The rivers are fatter this year than I expected, and I've made back all the wampum my last wife stole from me. But it's hardly a treasure trove."

  "No,” said Pete. Then he lowered his voice. “It's said that Jan van Doorn has happened upon a great Iroquois fortune."

  "Pete,” said Jan, “you and I both know that the Iroquois are not gold diggers. There is no Spanish treasure in the north."

  "Well, then I can't figure it out."

  "What?"

  "Either you've become handsome or rich. Looking at you I can see that you're ugly as ever. So I have to guess that it's because you're rich."

  Jan had no idea what he was talking about. “Pete, you've been drinking bad whiskey."

  "Van Doorn, I'd hide the gold if I were you. Not everyone is as honest as I."

  Then Pete walked off.

  Jan turned into the trading post and soon found out what Pete was babbling about. Both Gordon, the post owner, and Lancaster were there. It seemed the baker's wife, the spinster Patrice, and the widow Millard had all expressed an interest in him.

  "I don't even know the baker's wife,” said Jan.

  "You're about the only one who doesn't,” said Lancaster.

  "She's married."

  "That hasn't stopped her before. What I can't understand is how you found the gold."

  "There is no gold,” said Jan.

  "Then don't let anyone know or you'll lose your advantage. If it were me, I'd warm the spinster first. She has a fine stout figure."

  Jan realized they all thought he had found gold because that could be the only reaso
n anyone would take an interest in him.

  Suddenly Jan did not want an advantage. He did not want to warm anyone. He didn't want their smiles.

  Then he thought of Willow's tattoo. Was there actually something more to it than chanting and smoke?

  Jan had an easy way to find out.

  He turned to Gordon. “I need some scraps of cloth."

  "Not another dress,” said Gordon.

  "No, I need an eye patch.” Except it wouldn't cover his eye. It would cover the tattoo.

  When he'd stitched together his patch and tied it about his head, he visited the baker's. The wife stood at the counter dripping honey onto buns.

  She looked up and smiled at him. Then he shut the door behind him and slid the patch over the tattoo.

  Her face changed. It was slight, but the welcome was gone.

  He looked her in the eye. “I've a hunger for something sweet and warm,” he said.

  "No,” she said. “I can't. I've baked nothing today."

  "Perhaps tomorrow."

  "No,” she said. It was barely a whisper.

  Then he moved the patch off his tattoo.

  She looked intently at him as if she'd noticed something strange or was confused. Then her demeanor changed. She placed her hand over her breast. “I think the light from outside affected my vision. I'm sorry. What did you want?"

  "I've a great appetite."

  "You're a large man."

  "That has its advantages,” he said.

  She arched an eyebrow and grinned. “I should imagine."

  It was the tattoo. Of course, it didn't help that she was as unsteady as March sunshine. Jan slipped the patch back over the tattoo and watched her wanton look turn all to business. Then he walked out.

  He tried his experiment on the spinster and widow and a few others along the way. All but the chandler's wife reacted in a similar fashion, but it was said a pickled heart beat in her breast and she couldn't be relied on in matters of love and friendship. Whether that was true or not, she was certainly immune to heathen witchery, for he planted himself next to her in the apothecary for at least two minutes, and she didn't so much as bat an eyelash.