***
When we walk into our village above the cave, the Turtle, the Turkey, the Wolf, and the Bear clans stop and stare at Mrs. Stewart. She is still wearing the red dress she was wearing when we were captured, except now her blackened knees poke out between shreds of stained cloth. Her hair is stuck together in a gray clump like a horse's hoof. She is cradling her bundled log and blinking as an owl does in the sunlight.
As we approach the English-talking group, they stop speaking one by one. No one likes Mrs. Stewart, but now they look at her in horror and pity. Other people crowd behind us, their faces watchful and waiting.
"Muxomsa," I say softly, looking at my feet, "Mrs. Stewart says she goes to Sequin by the Erie Lake. Two muskets? Maybe three? If she washes and has new clothes."
"She looks like a crazy woman," Grandfather shouts. "Sequin will trade muskets for a bitter, crazy woman?"
"Not bitter. Not crazy. She wants to leave. This sun."
Hepte says, "Father, I have made a new dress with Sequin's red cloth. She may have the new dress if you bring more cloth back, enough cloth for your granddaughters and myself."
"More cloth and muskets for this?" Grandfather flings an arm in Mrs. Stewart's direction.
Mrs. Stewart steps forward. "Netawatwees, I don't understand what you're saying, but I hear the scorn in your voice. Not that I've ever given a fig as to what your opinion is of me. I want to go. I want to leave."
Grandfather switches to English. "Then leave. Today," he says angrily. "My daughter has offered a dress. My granddaughter will help you wash—"
Oh, no I won't.)v& the thought of touching that filthy, clumped hair makes my skin crawl.
"—and when you're ready my son-in-law will take you to Sequin's."
"On one condition. Apparently, Mary disobeyed you in coming to the cave and speaking to me. She came to help. You're not to punish her for that."
My mouth drops open. This is Mrs. Stewart?
Grandfather and Mrs. Stewart stare hard into each other's eyes. He blinks first.
"No punishment," he mutters.
"Regular visits, too. I'll not abandon her to you."
Grandfather gives her a short nod. "Hepte will come down the cliff trail with the dress."
"Good-bye, Netawatwees."
Grandfather puts his hand out as though he expects her to shake it. Instead, Mrs. Stewart turns slowly on her cracked heels. When did she lose her shoes?
Her head is held high. With her back as straight as a ramrod, she walks faster and faster down the rows of wigwams toward the cliff trail. I have to trot to keep up.
Finally I stop as she begins her descent.
"I'll miss you," I call out to her. "Thank you for ... helping me. Good-bye." I wave my hand, but she doesn't look back.
"Good-bye, Mary Stewart," I whisper.
Mrs. Stewart breaks into a run and disappears down the cliff trail.
11. Questions
MRS. STEWART HAS BEEN GONE FOR WEEKS. Once more the little presents from Kolachuisen appear at my shoulder every morning. Each daybreak I awake to a pretty leaf, or a trim milkweed pod with a stem leaking sap, or a pebble the same dainty pink as my fingernails after an afternoon spent scrubbing pots in the river. Once there was a crisp strip of birch bark crafted into a tiny canoe.
This morning I found three tiny blueberries nestled in an acorn cap.
Every breakfast Kolachuisen watches me eat with the Turtle clan. She always finds a way to work next to me in the gardens. She follows me when I gather wood. Her family wigwam is close to ours. In the evening, whenever I talk to Hepte, or Chickadee, or Grandfather, out of the corner of my eye I see Kolachuisen watching me and listening to what I say.
I lie awake at night, considering what to do. I haven't talked to someone my own age since leaving Fairfield. I wonder if I've forgotten how to talk to another girl. I wonder if I've forgotten what to talk about.
Constance and I swore we'd be best friends forever, but surely she's made another best friend by now. That doesn't mean she's forgotten me; I haven't forgotten her. It would be grand to share secrets with someone again. As I watch our starfire wane to embers, I decide to be Kolachuisen's friend.
Today, while gathering wood, I nod and smile to her, and it's as though I've tapped a keg of cider. The words flow out and don't stop.
"Do you like it here?" she says as she wrinkles her nose. "I hate the Oyo Hoking. I wish we hadn't left the Allegheny. There aren't enough people here. It's too lonesome.
"Did you know Buckahelagas snores in his sleep? Every night last winter I listened to him snore, just like a bear in a cave, and thought, 'This is my future husband? This is the boy my parents want me to marry? I have to listen to that snore every night for the rest of my life?'"
She giggles and looks over her shoulder.
"I wouldn't mind listening to Makiawip snore for the rest of my life-don't you think he's handsome? I'm sure I've seen him looking at me."
She kicks a tree root and scowls.
"But he's been promised to Tankawon, but I don't think she's very pretty. Do you? She's got that long nose, just like an opossum's nose."
She wiggles her nose, then lowers her voice. "Tankawon is only Turkey clan-what were Makiawip's parents thinking? And—"
"Kolachuisen," I break in. "Please. Too many words. My head will hurt."
She looks crushed. "It has been such a long time since I had someone to talk to. I was waiting for you to learn our language and ... to be happy again. So we could be friends."
"We can be friends. I think Makiawip is handsome, too." I take her hand. "Thank you for the presents. I have so many questions."
She smiles again. "We can talk all the time now. So," she leans forward and whispers, "who do you want to marry?"
"What?"
"You're twelve winters, aren't you? Just like me? In two more winters you'll be married."
"I-I will?" I stammer. My knees collapse under me and I land hard on the gorge's steep slope. Kolachuisen sits next to me.
"If you don't choose someone, they'll choose him for you, so you'd better start looking," she says in a low voice. "Not that we've got much to choose from around here. Maybe more Delaware will come here next summer. Or maybe we'll have Wyandot or Shawnee husbands."
"A Shawnee husband," I whisper. My blood runs cold just thinking about it.
But I'll be long gone before I'm fourteen. I'll be rescued and back in Pennsylvania. Won't I?
Won't I?
My heart starts to pound. What if I am married when the king's men come to rescue me? I hadn't thought of that. Could I leave a husband behind? Or my own children! Surely I couldn't be like Mrs. Stewart, replacing one family with another without even a look backward?
All my life I've heard of captives who refused to return to the settlements. Their white families are their past, their new families are their future.
Is this my life to come? A Delaware husband, wigwams, leather clothes, and heathen children who won't look anything like me?
What if I brought my new family to Campbell Station with me? I try to imagine the Campbells with a Delaware son-in-law and half-breed grandchildren. My parents sit at table with their faces turned to the wall. My children cry and ask to be taken home. I tell them home is your family.
Only Dougal makes them feel welcome. He thinks it's grand having a brother who's an Indian.
So as not to suffer the same fate as Sammy Stewart, I tried to divide myself into two Marys. The meek and mild lamb Mary was the only Mary the Delaware would ever see. The real Mary I'd keep hidden away until I saw the Campbells again.
As it turns out, the Delaware like the real Mary better. So do I, I reckon. Lambs are sweet and gentle but boring, to tell the truth.
But it's all so confusing-the true and the false, the real and the lamb. Does the true Mary or the false Mary wait to be rescued? Does the real Mary or the lamb Mary consider marriage with a Delaware or even a Shawnee?
"Mary." Kolachuisen pinches my arm. "You we
ren't listening."
"Kolachuisen." How do I tell her my mind was a thousand miles away? Or at the very least in Pennyslvania? "I have never thought about being married."
"You haven't?" she shouts.
"No! I mean ... I have never thought about marriage among the Delaware." I look at her. "I don't think about the time to come very often."
She doesn't say anything but looks at me with narrowed eyes. I decide to change the subject.
"Kolachuisen, why are there no girls our age among us? Tell me about Netawatwees Sachem's older granddaughter. How many winters was she? What was she like? No one in the Turtle clan talks about her. Did she do something wrong?"
Kolachuisen jumps to her feet. She looks terrified. "We never talk about them," she says, shaking her head.
"Keko windji?" I ask. "Kolachuisen?"
But she's already slip-sliding down the gorge toward the river trail.
***
That evening, as the Turtle clan talks around me, my mind feels on fire with questions. Except for my rescue, I haven't given my future much thought-my life as a grown woman, I mean. What if I'm not rescued? Just who will Mary Caroline Campbell be then? I'm certainly not a Delaware, but I scarcely remember being a Campbell anymore either. Who am I?
I'm in the middle and I've never felt so alone.
White Eyes and Grandfather have made us a summer porch on the southern side of our wigwam, the side that always faces the sun. It's pleasant sitting here, especially of an evening, watching the sun set and the moon wax and wane, rise and fall.
I stay awake tonight as Grandfather, White Eyes, and Chickadee enter the wigwam and nod off to sleep. Hepte is awake, as always. She's always the last one to retire at night and the first one to awaken in the morning.
"Tonn," she says, "you are quiet this evening."
"Hepte," I say cautiously, "I have many questions. Why are Kolachuisen and I the only girls of twelve winters?"
"A sickness came," she says, so softly at first, I thought I heard the wind whispering through the pines instead of her voice. "And the others a few winters more than you are already married. They are no longer girls."
"Kolachuisen was talking today about marriage."
She laughs. "Kolachuisen likes to talk."
"She says I will be married soon."
"You want to be married?"
"Someday," I answer anxiously, "but I hope not soon." I hold my breath, waiting to hear what plans the Turtle clan has for me.
Hepte nods. "Not soon. You have a long time before marriage."
My breath gushes out all at once. "I am glad to hear you say that."
Hepte is pulling a rabbit skin to soften it. She pulls and pulls for a long time. I've noticed that her hands never stop moving: stirring stewpots, planting seeds, tanning hides, sewing, braiding hair, scrubbing clothes, sweeping. Her hands are as thickly muscled as a man's.
She asks, "You have another question?"
"Please tell me about your daughter," I say softly.
"Her real name is Wapashuiwi. That's a small white wildcat with fur on the tips of her ears."
"White Lynx," I think in English. I'll ask Grandfather if that's right.
Hepte says, "But it was you who started calling her Chickadee. Her new name suits her. Everyone calls her Chickadee now."
"No, I mean your other daughter."
"I should talk about you?" Hepte asks playfully.
I don't know their word for "dead." I've never heard anyone say it. "No, I mean the daughter who first had the moccasins."
"We never talk about them," Hepte says quickly.
"But why won't you talk about her? What did she do that was so bad?"
Hepte looks startled. "She did nothing wrong. We don't talk about those who are no longer with us."
"Did she look like me? What was her name? If I am to replace her, I must know about her."
"You do replace her," Hepte says softly. "You are a fine daughter. It is time to go to sleep."
"You can tell me nothing about her?" I ask. "Her name? How many winters she had? Anything?"
Hepte takes my chin in her hands and looks into my eyes. "You do replace her. You have replaced her in all our hearts."
"You've forgotten her?"
"Of course we will never forget her. But you have filled that empty place she left in our hearts."
"Please tell me something about her. Please. Everyone else knew her. I need to know something about her."
It's hard to explain, but if I can learn something important about her, I know I'll learn something important about me.
Hepte puts her hands in her lap. "I will tell you these things," she replies. "She was your grandfather's first grandchild. He loved her very much! When he looked at her, there was so much love in his face. Sometimes I see that same look on his face when he looks at you.
"She is there." Hepte points to the Milky Way high above our heads. "Those stars make up the pathway of souls, on their way to Heaven."
"Your mother is up there, too?" I ask shyly.
"Yes. They are together as we are together."
"What I have learned tonight has lightened my heart. I was feeling so alone today, so ... in the middle. I no longer have this feeling. Thank you for telling me about her. Good night, Hepte."
She looks at me askance. "Won't you call me Gahes? The one and only time you called me that, you wanted to gain favor to see Mrs. Stewart."
She looks at me expectantly.
I can call her Gahes. She's done so much for me, I can do this for her, to make her happy. They're not even the same words, gahes and" mother" so I won't be disloyal to my own mother.
"Ga ... ga," I say before dissolving into tears.
"You must love her very much," Hepte says, "and miss her."
"More," I sob, "more than she loves me."
Hepte says as she puts her arm around me, "No daughter loves her mother more than her mother loves her. Now go to sleep."
***
The next evening all the men sit glumly together. The man who had been carrying all the gunpowder in a knapsack tripped into the river. The gunpowder sank to the river bottom. The Winter Moon boys eagerly jumped in after it, keen to show off their strength and swimming prowess. No one came ashore with the knapsack.
The men will have to go back to Sequin's trading post for more gunpowder. I beg Grandfather for a chance to go with them.
"Muxomsa," I say, "I wish to see Mrs. Stewart."
He shakes his head in exasperation. "Why do you want to see that angry, bitter woman?"
"Please. I want to see if she's happy."
"And if she's not?"
"Tonn," Hepte says, "Sequin will see you again. Perhaps he will think he did not get such a good trade for his muskets after all. He will be angry and raise his prices."
"Muxomsa, please."
"Do not think about her," he orders, waving his hand impatiently. "Talk of something else."
"The gunpowder, then. This morning, after the powder sank into the river, we wanted to know what happened, in the same way we want to know the end of a story. What happened to Mrs. Stewart is like not knowing the end of a story.
"I don't know the word in Unami, but in English it's curious. Do you know this word, Muxomsa?"
"I know this word. You are sure that is all? Only curious?"
"Yes," I reply.
"Mrs. Stewart is the sort of person who is never happy. We gave her a new home, a new husband, a chance for new children. But still she was not happy. We should never have taken her, or we should have killed her along the way."
I think about all the times I cried myself to sleep when I was first captured. "Would you have killed me?" I ask him breathlessly.
"We talked about it."
"Father," Hepte scolds, then turns to me. "You are a good daughter and very pretty. We are worried Sequin will want you for himself."
"But if Sequin is happy with Mrs. Stewart, he will not raise his prices. He may even lower them. Plea
se, Grandfather. You need a woman to carry food."
He gazes thoughtfully into the fire. I hold my breath and wait for him to decide.
"You may go with us."
I let out my breath. "May I speak English with Mrs. Stewart?"
"You may speak English with Mrs. Stewart. But if she is not happy, that is the end of it."
12. Changes
THREE DAYS LATER WE LEAVE for Sequin's trading post. Hepte tells me to wash my face and hands in the river before seeing Mrs. Stewart. She tells me twice, then reminds me again. I think she doesn't want Mrs. Stewart to see me with dirty hands and a dirty face. Hepte doesn't want Mrs. Stewart to think that she hasn't been taking care of me.
Before we leave, Chickadee rushes out of the wigwam with my doll clutched in her fist.
"She will be lonely," she says, pressing the doll into my hand.
"Kamis Chickadee, you keep her for me."
When I give the doll back, Chickadee's eyes sparkle as she holds it close to her cheek.
We walk down the cliff trail and follow the river path north to Sequin's.
***
The leaves look like early September-that bright, solid green with touches of gold at the tips. The morning air has a snap to it; the evenings are wondrously clear. Little sassafras plants cover the forest floor. In the greenish sunlight we see deer and fawns grazing in the glades. When they see us, they bound away in fear, the mothers' white tails flashing between the trees like dogwood blossoms caught in a breeze.
We stop for a swim in a calm part of the Cuyahoga. The cold water feels good on my hot head and neck.
I am the last one out of the river. The men are anxious to leave. They scowl and complain that I am taking too long to dress; it will be dark soon, and we have a long way to go before then. I tell them it's hard tying thongs and squeezing into a too-small tunic. They just complain more. No one offers to help.
These men remind me of my father Campbell—distant, separate, and always in a hurry, with important things to do before dark.
The Beaded Moccasins Page 10