by Gen Bailey
It had been dark on the inside, 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 had led from one end of the structure to the other, and it was long. There were hearths set in regular intervals down that corridor, spaced perhaps twenty feet apart. At that time, there had been a few of the older women seated around those fires, tending to them, and many of these women had been holding a child in their laps.
It had been yet another busy place, and a little noisier than the outside, since small children ran to and fro. She remembered that drums had been beating there, as well, and that men had been singing. Incredibly, the buzz of conversation had made the space seem homey.
Glancing around, Marisa had 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 had led Marisa down the main passageway, Marisa had noted that on each side of the corridor were separate compartments, each partitioned off from the next with sheets of bark. There had been corncobs strung up to dry, gourds that had been set in neat rows on the floor and cooking utensils and other articles had been 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, she’d noted, for the interior was still smoky and warm. Plus, there had been food cooking, and Marisa had been pressed to contain her excitement. Were they going to eat?
About five hearths into the longhouse, Blue Necklace had signaled to Marisa to take a seat, which Marisa had done at once. Blue Necklace had then heaped upon a plate as many corncobs, corn cakes, ribs and succotash as Marisa had desired. It had been a feast. It had smelled delicious, and it had tasted even better.
Blue Necklace had watched her, smiling, and although she had allowed Marisa as much time as she needed to satisfy her appetite, as soon as Marisa had finished her meal, Blue Necklace had escorted her out of the longhouse, bringing her here, to the central point of the village.
People had gradually gathered here. Many speeches were being made, even as she stood before them, waiting, and many men had been talking for quite some time. Once again, Marisa felt as if she were the center of attention, especially so since she stood next to the speakers. What was being said? Did any of it have to do with her? But most importantly, did adoption consist of running the gauntlet?
Time passed, and when no actions 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, with feathers attached at the back. 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 that of letting the hair hang loose and long, or that of two braids at the side of their face or one braid down the back.
But what set this meeting apart from any town meeting she had ever attended, thought Marisa, was that every person here seemed inordinately interested in what was taking place. No one interrupted the speaker, no one spoke when another was talking. Nor did their attention seem to vary.
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, she noted, heavily fringed and embroidered 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 skin tight 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?”
“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, there was a little girl caught onto her arm. It was Pretty Ribbon, the little girl 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 said, as she smiled and nodded to her new sisters. Pretty Ribbon, however, could not long keep her enthusiasm to herself, and Marisa caught 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 into 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,” he explained. “No one here is foolish enough to consider that we have not indulged in lovemaking. It is evident 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 mother, 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 that she could hold the trays without dropping them, Marisa exchanged her tray with Black Eagle’s. Black Eagle let out a deep breath, smiled at her, and said, “And now you are my wife.”
“Wife,” she repeated, almost to herself. I am this man’s wife.
Looking up at him, and 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 thought, 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 their kindness, and she might not have been quite human were there not a tear or two at the back of her eyes. But she didn’t cry. Instead, she smiled. And 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 lo
nghouse of the Turtle Clan.
Twenty-one
After a month of being 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. Always, there were chores, but there were so many people to help and to talk to, that 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 to sit around the fire with family. But 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 both played a rousing game of ball. There was a slight chill in the air, a warning that winter was coming, 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 to note, she thought, 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?”
“I could try, although he tells it better than I do. There are some parts that I don’t remember well.”
“That is to be understood. You almost drowned. 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,” said Marisa, “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 to 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 that 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,” said Marisa, falling 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,” said Pretty Ribbon, “I made this for you.” The little girl presented Marisa with a bouquet of wild flowers, tied together with a piece of bark.
“Oh, they’re beautiful,” said Marisa, and she bent down to give the little girl a hug and 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 white person.”
“Ah,” said Marisa, “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 helping hands if one fell behind. To add to her pleasure, however, Pretty Ribbon had become Marisa’s almost constant companion, and oddly enough it was the little girl who had helped Marisa to learn the language.
“I would still like to try them on,” said Pretty Ribbon.
“And so you shall,” said Marisa. “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,” said Pretty Ribbon. “Can I help you to feed him?”
“Of course you can. Come, let’s hurry.” And Marisa, taking both of her sister’s hands, said, “Do you want to race?”
Laughing Maid grinned, but Pretty Ribbon wasn’t too keen. She said, “I am too little. I always lose.”
“Yes,” said 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,” said Pretty Ribbon. Smiling up at her two sisters, she said, “Go!”
And with much laughing, the three sisters flew on home, and surprisingly enough, Pretty Ribbon won.
Was she happy?
As Black Eagle stood next to his fellow runners on the race track, he chanced to look toward the sidelines of the track, catching his wife’s eye. He witnessed her smile, and he returned it, watching her even when she glanced away.
She seemed happy, he thought, 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 material 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 good 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.
Bringing his attention back to the present, he noticed that Ahweyoh had raised up her glance to meet his, and that she was now staring back at him with such blatant seduction that Black Eagle was stunned at first, yet responded, as any healthy male might . . . and 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 this race. 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 back to 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 a warm, clear and bright day.
Marisa stood on the outskirts of the footr
ace. Black Eagle was there, stripped down of all his clothes, save his breechcloth and moccasins, as were all of the participants. But none looked better, sexier 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 yet 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 “come-on” 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 unfortunate for him, the breechcloth he wore provided little 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.” It was Laughing Maid speaking. All three sisters stood together at the side of the track. As was becoming commonplace, Pretty Ribbon was hanging onto Marisa’s hand.
“The fastest runner? Truly?”
“Nyoh, we will see today if he will hold onto 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 had started to pull ahead.
“Go Black Eagle!” she cried in English, adding her voice to the shouts of those around her.
And then all of the runners disappeared into a valley. Momentarily, the participants were hidden from view.