by E. B. Brown
Maggie wondered how Rebecca would adapt. The girl followed Maggie everywhere and took a liking to Teyas, so it was a welcome relief that Teyas decided to join them. The girl was only fifteen, as Maggie suspected, and she looked at the men with tribulation most days but she was smart enough to understand they meant her no harm. They never spoke of returning her to the English, and Maggie had a feeling the girl would not go even if it were offered. Rebecca held a deep shame for what had happened to her.
“It’s better off my Ma and Pa lie dead. Better dead then to know the truth,” Rebecca said.
The cave served as their home and also as a central gathering place, the large enclosed space adopting the usage the community long house would traditionally take in their new settlement. The men built two yehakins in a semi-circle outside the cave, and also a smaller house to keep their gathered food and supplies. Teyas and Ahi Kekeleksu joined them as well, and their private sanctuary suddenly was a bustling mini village. Maggie welcomed the companionship but at the same time she longed for privacy with her husband, who seemed to be slipping further away.
It was nothing she could point to that changed things. The first night the others arrived, she thought he was merely trying to placate her shyness when he did not attempt to make love to her with his brothers sleeping nearby. He held her tenderly in his arms, his desire evident, yet he made no move to press his attention and she soon fell asleep in his embrace. However, when the next night followed the same routine, Maggie knew something was amiss, and on waking alone in the furs once again she decided to confront him.
Makedewa and Chetan worked on completing the supply house. Makedewa grunted in greeting as Chetan secured a flat bark shingle to the roof and tapped it into place with the blunt end of his iron axe, a gift he had gleaned from the English when they were all still on better terms.
“Have you seen Winn?” she asked.
“He checks the snares by the cliff. Take care if you follow him,” Makedewa answered, disapproval evident in his tone.
“Thank you, I will,” she smiled. She left them to their work. Stopping by the cave to grab her heavy wool cloak, she also tossed some crusty bread and some cheese into a small satchel before she set off up to the cliff in search of her husband. Although she knew the trail well, it still might take a bit of time to find him and she did not want to be trapped without any recourse if her stomach acted up. Most of her nausea had diminished in the weeks they spent in the mountain valley, but there were still waves of dizziness that seemed to get better with a bit of food in her belly.
She found him on the ridge by the cliff, standing at the edge. His ears were sharp and she was surprised he did not hear her advance as he looked out over the valley, his empty gaze searching over the tumble of green that graced the land as far as the eye could wander. His chin dipped down and he cocked his head to the side when he finally noticed her, but he did not turn to greet her.
Maggie slipped her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his bared shoulder. He was dressed simply in a breechcloth and buckskin leggings, his copper skin shimmering with a layer of fresh sweat dampening his skin, slick against her lips. He placed one hand over hers and held her tightly as he continued to watch the valley.
“I miss you, husband,” she said softly. She felt his ribs move as he let out a sigh.
“I do not go away for long.”
“I’m not talking about just this morning. I miss more than that.” She let her hand slip down over his breechcloth and smiled when his body responded to her touch. He shuddered and let out a strangled groan at the contact, but his hand closed over her wrist and he moved her hand to his chest.
She refused to be dissuaded, and ran her fingers over his taut nipples to entice him further. He made a low choking sound and swung her around into his arms, and she sighed with pleasure as his lips came down upon hers. Needful and wanting, his mouth made promises, but she was left panting and empty when he pulled back.
“You should go back to the cave. I will return soon,” he said. One of his hands caressed the small of her back as he held her, and she felt the fingers of his other hand twisting in her hair. He kissed the top of her head as he often did and made to part, but she circled her arms around his waist and would not yield.
“Please tell me what troubles you,” she asked. She wished it was only the uncertainty of the coming winter, or worry over storing enough food before the first snow, but when his almond shaped blue eyes fell dark and he gazed down at her in despair, she feared perhaps it was something she did not want to know after all.
“I…I will not worry you over my thoughts, ntehem,” he said softly.
“But I would hear them anyway. What keeps you from my bed, warrior? Am I too round now for you to love?” she tried to joke, infusing a bit of humor. The corner of his mouth turned up and he did smile, but it did not reach his eyes and it was rapidly replaced with a frown.
“Of course not. I know my babe grows inside you.” He broke away at the confession, and turned back to the cliff.
Maggie winced at his words and made no move to follow him. So that ghost was rearing its memory, shades of the time they spent apart, and she had no idea how to battle such things. They had not spoken of that time since they were reunited, and although she knew someday it would need to be said, she feared it was still too fresh of a wound to risk bending it.
“Do you doubt this child is yours?” she asked, the words so hoarse as to be nearly silent as uttered from her lips. His shoulders flinched and sagged, but he did not move otherwise.
“I know the babe is my blood.”
“Then what are you getting at, Winn?” she whispered. She felt the sting of tears and thrust the despair away, instead embracing the rising tide of anger as a means to clear the path. He was stubborn, she would give him that, but she was even more so to a greater fault, and she would not let his accusations go unanswered.
She put her hand on his arm but he shrugged it off, turning on her. His eyes flared like beacons in a storm, his cheeks flushed, his fisted hands at his sides. The veins in his neck and arms stood out in rails along his skin.
“Tell me why you went to his bed. Tell me why you wed him,” he said quietly. She swallowed hard before she could summon the strength to answer.
“I was afraid. I was alone and afraid. Is that what you want to hear?” she said. “I didn’t know what to do. You were gone, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“Did you love him?” he asked. His lips thinned with the force of holding back, and his hands reached for her once but pulled away. He thrust his hands up and squeezed his head, then ran his fingers through his thick hair. “I fear to ask it, but not knowing haunts me.”
“Winn –”
“I know you shared his bed. I must know – did you share his heart as well? I will hear it from you. ”
“Then hear this, husband,” she said. “I have loved no other but you. Every moment we were apart, it was always you. Even when I thought you dead, it was still you.”
He stepped back, putting space between them, and when she reached for him he gently pushed her hands away.
She dropped her hand and turned to go as a sob reached her throat, stifling it with a fist clenched against her mouth as she made for the trail. Through blurred eyes she took the path back down to the cave, but instead of returning to the others, she followed the tree line to the crevice where the spring sat beneath the falls.
She wanted to be angry with him, but she could not. Would she be any better, had he been with another woman? She cringed at the thought of her warrior in the arms of another, and with the intensity of disgust that surfaced within her she could hardly hold him accountable for the anger he now felt.
Shedding her dress, she stepped into the shallow pool and sank down onto the flat ledge, closing her eyes to the warmth and wishing it was his arms that surrounded her instead. Was it a matter of forgiveness between them now, some demon they needed to extinguish, or was this the slow tearing of
the bonds that held their lifeblood together? Should she feel shame for doing what she thought was best when she believed Winn dead, or should she hold it up and demand it be forgotten, never to be spoke of again? She knew no answer for mending the tear between them.
She felt the water ripple and saw the flash of his bared skin as he dipped beneath the water. His clothes lay in a pile next to hers, and two dead rabbits tied together lay staring with blank eyes at the mouth of the crevice. She closed her eyes when she felt his hands circle her waist and his slick body surfaced in front of her. Like a glorious heathen God, he shook the water from his hair and droplets ran down his rippled chest, dipping into the scarred crease below his left shoulder. She wanted to brush it away, but she was afraid to touch him, fearful to breathe or make a sound lest he go back the way he came.
“Winn, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, pulling back slightly from his kiss. He cupped her face with two wide hands and gently kissed the tear than ran down her cheek.
“As am I, ntehem.”
“But can you ever forgive me?” she whispered.
“Maggie,” he said softly. “You once asked me if I would not do the same, if I was trapped, like you, far away from my home. Yes, I had anger at you! By the Gods, Maggie, I wanted to hurt you for marrying him!” He trembled as he spoke, his eyes skewed into shallow slits and his face contorted in a grimace, as if he pained with each syllable. “But I know why you did it, and when my head cleared, I could not keep anger at you,” he murmured.
“Oh, Winn,” she breathed. “I love you. It’s always been you.”
He pressed his lips to her hair and drew her close.
His hand slid up her back, and she could feel the sensation of something rough yet yielding against her skin. He took her hand in his and placed the object in her outstretched palm. Filled with water and scented with sweet oil, a fat sea sponge sat in her hand. She looked up at him, uncertain of his intention, and was pleased to see the beginning of a smile on his lips.
“Among my people, a story is told of the First Husband,” he said softly. He brought her hand to his chest, where he guided her to make circles across his skin with the sponge. “The man loved a beautiful maiden, and this maiden was as dear to him as the sun is to the moon. He married her, and they lived as one. So blinded by his love for the maiden, he could think of nothing else but her. One day he was called away to hunt, and he left the maiden alone.”
Maggie remained silent, but she followed his lead, and she continued to sponge him gently as he told the story. The sounds of the water lapping against their skin echoed in the cavern, as loud as his shallow breaths upon her skin. His hands settled on her waist and he pulled her closer, her breasts pushed flat against his chest as she gently scrubbed his shoulders and arms.
“The man never returned to the village and the maiden knew some evil had taken him from her, since she knew he would never leave her. Soon her family found her another husband, and she married again.” At this his voice dipped lower, and he took the sponge from her to gently caress along her skin. He dabbed her face and neck, and traced tiny circles over her breasts and ribs. “Many moons later the First Husband returned, as he was not dead at all, but only lost in the woods. He challenged the new husband for his wife, and when he won she was returned to him.”
His hand dropped lower to her navel, and paused at her swollen belly before he resumed the gentle rhythm, cleansing the spot where their child grew deep inside her.
“The man took his wife to the river, and there he bathed her. He scrubbed her skin with the bark from a Cyprus tree, scrubbed until her skin lay pink. Then she did the same to him, and they lay together again as man and wife, the sadness of their time apart forgotten.”
She felt a tear escape down her cheek, and smiled as he brushed it away with the sponge.
“I am clean now,” he said softly. His bright eyes softened of their frantic luster, a calmness washing over him as he gazed down at her.
“As am I, my husband,” she whispered.
CHAPTER 39
“It is finished. The Council speaks, they say they give us blessing.”
Maggie and Teyas both looked up as Winn entered the cave and made his declaration, the joy in his words streaming from his grinning lips. She jumped to her feet and threw herself into his waiting arms.
“Oh, Winn, that is wonderful!” she cried. She had worried for days what it would mean to him by returning to the village to speak with the Council, but with his safe return she had hope that someday they may rejoin the Paspahegh. Although they would remain in their secluded valley until the child was born, the support of the Council meant the Paspahegh would not hunt them. The threat from Opechancanough remained, but it was the best they could hope for at this point.
He kissed her soundly, kicking out at Teyas with his toe when she giggled.
“They say Opechancanough sent you to the English, so he must not need your blood. They welcome you return to the village. It is the best we could hope for.”
“Well, I can’t fault their reasoning, but I wish it had nothing to do with your uncle,” Maggie grumbled. He squeezed her and groaned.
“Ah, woman! You know it has much to do with my uncle.”
“What about Finola?” she asked. Opechancanough had banished Finola as well, but as she had no husband to speak for her, Winn served as emissary to the Council. Maggie held her breath while waiting for his response.
“If she wishes, she may remain there with the Paspahegh. But the Council fear her, and I worry she may want to return to the English.”
“No! Why would she want that?” she asked, drawing back from his embrace to look up at his face.
Teyas interrupted. “She said she fears she will miss it when it happens if she is not with the English.”
“Miss what?”
“The return of Pale Feather.”
Winn stiffened at her words and his hands fell away from Maggie. Teyas shrugged her shoulders and went back to her work, weaving strips of cured deer hide together for a sleeping mat.
“What did the Witch say of my father?” Winn demanded, his words spoken careful but with clear authority. Teyas sighed.
“Finola sees a night when stars fall from the sky. She sees the English send men to look for the stars, and that is the night Pale Feather will return. She says she must stay with the English for it to pass.”
Maggie felt a stirring in her belly and slid her hand down over the swelling. Surely, it was too soon to feel movement, but she smiled anyway and waited breathlessly to see if it would come again. Winn noticed her shift and eyed her expectantly.
“It’s nothing,” she smiled. He grinned and nodded, looking a bit like a wounded puppy, but kissed her cheek quickly and shook his head.
“So another vision then. She can go to the English if that is her wish, I will not keep her from them,” Winn said. “But you, little one, I will keep you here in front of my two eyes, so I may never lose you again.” He squeezed her and lifted her off her feet, and a squeal escaped her lips as they laughed. Teyas rolled her eyes skyward, but she also smiled.
It was a blissful peace for the moment, and Maggie was happy to bask in the glorious contentment as long as it would have them.
*****
Maggie walked back from the waterfall, a basket of damp clothes balanced on her hip. Her belly had grown somewhat large as the birth approached, as pregnant bellies often do, and she found it harder each day to make the trek down the steep path. She managed well with the constant exercise, pleasantly surprised to see how her body responded to the activity during her pregnancy. Yet the fatigue now made even the smallest chore seem much more complicated. At times she felt afraid of the upcoming birth, but Teyas and Chulensak Asuwak were like hovering hens and they kept her too occupied to dwell on her fears too often. She was glad Winn’s family had joined them at the waterfall and she hoped they would stay instead of returning to the village.
She smiled at the thought of their faces when she
explained how babies were born in her time. A hospital room, male doctors, and spinal anesthesia made quite the impact on them, but once they heard all about it they assured her their ways were much better. Birthing a baby was a sacred event, and the women would take care of her as they cared for each other. Maggie was glad for their kinship, and thankful for their love.
As the cave came in sight, she looked up ahead and spotted Ahi Kekeleksu leading Blaze into the new corral. He smiled and waved, shooting his hand up so fast that the chestnut colt spooked and reared, but the spry boy dodged the animal and managed to get it through the gate.
Maggie was panting when she finally reached him, and she bent over a bit with her hands on her knees to catch her breath before she chastised him. The child knelt down before her and peered up into her eyes. Rebecca came running to help him.
“Tentay teh? Is it your time?” he asked. His large brown eyes were round with excitement.
She could not recover her breath, and then a wave of pressure surged through her back down to her pelvis. She placed her hand on his shoulder, but he was not strong enough to hold her upright when her knees buckled, so he helped lower her to the ground.
“I need Winn,” she managed to groan as another contraction coursed through her. The pains were nearly on top of each other, with no relief in between. Was it normal for labor to start in such a way? In the movies they did things like count minutes between contractions, she thought with a grimace as another wave took her breath away.
“The warriors are hunting – I will get Teyas!” the boy shouted, taking off in a bare footed run up to the cave. She tried to get up, but the next contraction was too strong, and she uttered a scream as she sank down to her knees.
“Oh, Maggie!” Rebecca groaned, patting her back. Maggie glanced sideways at her. The girl looked terrified, and she could hardly blame her. She was close to panicked herself.