Another Chance

by Janet Cooper

  Brandywine! That allowed Sarah to place the year as 1777, now all she needed was the month. She scoured the tables with renewed energy, but at a much slower pace, unwilling to leave the room until she had learned all she could.

  "Neither side favors neutrals." She heard Benjamin say.

  "Nor Indians," Luke added, completing the unfinished sentence.

  The tavern owner bobbed his head. "Yet thou have an English surname."

  "Only when I travel," he responded.

  Benjamin gave an understanding look. "T'wasn't always so for thee or us. "

  "Ha!" Luke scoffed.

  "William Penn," Benjamin retorted with abrupt heat that cut off any remark Luke might have made. "paid the Lenni Lenape people for their land. And gave a fair price."

  "Aye, but the Lenape expected the whites to keep the treaties and value the land. Instead, the settlers kill the animals of the forest. Mills and dams interfere with the migration of the fish. Farm animals foul the water." He stared at Benjamin as if accusing him of during all these deeds.

  Luke's face had hardened and Sarah sensed his frustration. His shiny black eyes shone with hatred and flailed her with his allegation. Sarah wanted to protest her innocence; to tell him she and her people were changing. Before she spoke, she remembered the date. Any peace or respect for the Indians remained a far distant goal, not even totally achieved in her own era, she admitted, embarrassed at society's prejudice.

  "What can you do?" Sarah asked Luke.

  Benjamin raised an eyebrow.

  Oops, she thought, realizing her mistake. "What can thou," she emphasized the word, "do?"

  "Most of my people left this area almost forty years ago."

  "Why did you, thy, family stay?" she prodded. Remembering to use thee, thou, and thy at the correct times would be trying. And why did Benjamin care what words she used? After all, he had been 'Read Out' at Meeting and could no longer attend? Still, Sarah decided now was not the time to ask.

  Instead of answering, Luke looked from her to her father before focusing on the far wall. What thoughts raced through his mind? Would he deign to respond? She considered repeating her question, but didn't want to appear rude. Still, the idea tempted her. Her curiosity, from a historian's point of view and, she admitted, a personal one, made her seek an answer.

  At last, he said, "A few of my people wished to remain on the land of our ancestors and near our sacred ground."

  She stared at him expectantly, willing him to say more, for he had further stirred her interest, her compassion, her soul: these and more. She wished she understood the sensations Luke created within her, for she had never experienced anything similar before.

  When Luke failed to speak again, Benjamin said, "Daughter, thou must be tired. I will see to the fire. Get thee to bed."

  Disappointment overwhelmed her. If she left now, she might never discover why some of Luke's family had stayed. Benjamin and Luke probably planned to continue their conversation once she had left. The idea miffed her, leaving her feeling left out. She was not a child to be sent to bed so the adults could talk, and she prepared to tell Benjamin so. However, when she glanced at him, his expression brooked no disagreement. She realized a frontal attack might not succeed. Thinking fast, she chose a different tack. "The floor must still be swept."

  "Thou may do that in the morning." He pointed to the door, leading to the private parlor.

  Her plan had failed. Without being blatantly disrespectful to the older man, Sarah saw no way to continue the argument. Lifting the bucket, she walked to the front window, opened it, and threw the dirty water outside.

  "What art thou doing?"

  The shock in Benjamin's voice caused her to whirl around. He looked astonished, while Luke appeared amused. Neither expression pleased her. Covering her mistake, although she had no idea what she had done wrong, she replied, "Watering the herb garden?" She glanced outside, but the darkness prevented her from seeing if any plants grew along the walkway.

  He shook his head, as if with disbelief.

  Then she remembered. With the difficulty of fetching and carrying, a colonial woman would have saved and reused the water the next day. Glancing at the dirt still clinging to the side and bottom of the bucket made her shudder. Even the museum hadn't been that authentic.

  After closing the window, Sarah peeked at their guest. The curve of his lips revealed his obvious amusement. She blushed, something she always did when disconcerted or embarrassed. "Good night," she said.

  "Sleep well," Benjamin said, coming to her side and kissing her cheek.

  After his gruff words and manner, his gesture surprised yet pleased her.

  Luke nodded his goodbye.

  She walked toward the parlor, reluctantly. Upon reaching the door, she glanced back. Luke's jet black eyes caught and held her gaze. She ached to learn more about him, to question him about his people, and to understand the political and cultural differences. To spend a whole night with this man would be fantastic. As if he understood her thoughts, or at least the last part, he raised his eyebrows. Since Sarah would never see him again, she winked at Luke. Benjamin, fortunately, had not seen her for her action would have scandalized the proper Quaker gentleman.

  Luke raised an eyebrow. The ends of his lips turned up, very slightly.

  She grinned.

  His expression never changed.

  "Would thou care for a pipe of tobacco?" Benjamin asked, breaking the invisible bond she and Luke had fused. The innkeeper pulled an earthenware canister from the shelf.

  Not caring about Luke's answer to the question, Sarah headed toward the steps and her bedroom. She wanted to savor and remember Luke's last look--forever.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Before dawn the next morning, Luke Keenan took leave of the Dilworthtown Inn and headed northwest. As he rode, he shook off the facade of the trader and rejoiced in being Silver Wolf, the Lenape. He took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh, pure air. The smell reminded him of Sarah. Wolf had enjoyed watching and quietly heckling her. She had prevented his evening from lapsing into boredom. Several times last night, her amber eyes had flashed with anger and spirit. He remembered her bold wink with amusement. Although she dressed like a Quaker, her appraising manner and frank speech contrasted sharply with Wolf's notion of a tranquil member of the Society of Friends. Even her chestnut hair had refused to obey, sneaking out from beneath her cap.

  He grinned as he recalled her eyeing him with interest and inspecting his body carefully. Her frank appraisal aroused him and surprised him. Most women of her class viewed him and his people with as much pleasure as a coiled rattlesnake. Her meticulous evaluation reminded him of an Indian woman instead of a white. Unlike the English, his people saw no harm in appraising the human figure. Evidently, Sarah thought the same way. A chuckle slipped out. This morning, she would probably receive a scolding for her less than demure behavior.

  He had sensed her empathy when he mentioned the whites fouling the land and pushing his people off their property, but such emotions seldom lasted in whites. Their sympathy turned to pity, then dislike, then hatred. The idea of Sarah following this path filled Wolf with revulsion.

  Despite his attraction for her, the idea of becoming involved with a female from a race that despised and destroyed his own filled him with self-loathing. Her culture wished to crush his. This fact had forced Wolf to adjust his way-of-life, but he would never change it. The plantation belonged to his family. His English great-grandfather had paid for the land, purchasing it from the Lenape. He laughed at the irony of the situation. Other members of his tribe had also set aside areas for themselves. Usually, this effort failed, for the colonists encouraged…nay, often forced the Lenape off their land. Many of his people had moved west, but how long before the whites chased them from the land beyond the mountains? Wolf would not chance leaving. He and his small group must stay and protect their way-of-life from the foreign invasion. To have a relationship, one based on trust and mutual acceptance, if not
total understanding, with any white person was impossible. Jeremiah Low's image came to mind, followed swiftly by the image of his dead wife. Angrily, Wolf dismissed the vision.

  His paternal grandfather had married and taken his English wife's name to help safeguard their home; Wolf would make similar sacrifices if necessary. One he would not make was marrying a white woman and further diluting his Lenape blood.

  When he returned, he would visit the pimoa'kun and sweat the stink of the whites from his skin. Relaxing in the hot, moist heat would cleanse his body and his soul.

  As he approached his home, Long Meadow Plantation, a pillar of dark gray smoke succeeded quickly by the acrid stench of charred meat struck his nostrils. Not the essence of game drying over a smoke fire, nor the aroma of cooking, but another far more fearful smell. Fear clenched his gut. Pulling his bow from the case, he slid it over his head, securing the shaft against the quiver of arrows that hung securely between his shoulder blades. He had smelled a similar aroma, when he and his grandfather had visited an Indian village near the Pocono Mountains. Now, the vision returned, complete with the garish colors. He saw again the broken bodies of old women and babies; the remains of partially burnt flesh, and the total devastation of the defenseless community. For a child of seven, the memory never faded.

  He spurred his horse forward. Low branches that infringed on the dirt path threatened to unseat him. With a growl, he leaned over the mane flying and striking in his face. Let it not be so. Not here at his home. He prayed aloud to God. "Kitanito'wet, please. Let them be safe."

  Wolf burst into the clearing. Reining in, he stared. "No!" he howled. Scouring the area, he saw no one. His stomach knotted. Where was his family? Where were the tenant farmers? Wolf's gaze raked the barren yard. What had happened to his son? His father? His grandfather? Horror gripped his heart and twisted its icy finger.

  Again, he searched the yard. The stone walls of the barn stood, but wooden doors, shuttered windows, and cedar roof were gone. From inside the empty hull, grey-black smoke trailed into the sky. Several overturned leather buckets lay discarded around the yard. Of human or animal, he saw none. Off to the side, his house and that of his overseer stood unscathed. He offered a quick prayer of thanks. Farther back, near the first clump of trees, the tenants' cabins were untouched. The total destruction of the barn contrasted sharply with the other untouched buildings.

  Wolf gritted his teeth. With difficulty, he controlled the howls of despair. Raiders had attacked and destroyed what his family and his people had worked so hard to achieve. All his plans and efforts to guard his people had failed. He had failed! If he had returned last night, might he have prevented the assault? Guilt filled him. He should have pushed to return. Instead, he had dallied with a white woman while his people lay under the sword. He had rested in a comfortable bed, while his people fought for their land…his land. Shame assaulted his soul.

  A flash of color caught his eye. Wolf yanked his bow over his head, and quickly notched an arrow. Taking aim on the spot, he waited. His overseer rounded the corner of the wall and trudged toward him. "Brave Bear," Wolf called in Algonquin, lowering the bow and spurring his horse forward.

  The Bear lifted his head, and then leaned against the shovel he had been using to spread the ashes. Even at this distance, the exhaustion showed in his face and carriage. Gray ash covered his hair, making him appear twice his age. Strips of black soot painted lines on his walnut colored skin.

  "What happened?" Wolf demanded, jumping off his horse. "Where is my family? What about the raiders? Are they still about?"

  "Your grandfather, son and the other braves rode out two sunrises ago. The British soldiers arrived after sunrise yesterday and left before the sun reached its zenith," Bear answered.

  “Are Little Turtle and White Owl safe?" Wolf asked.

  Brave Bear nodded as he breathed deeply perhaps filling his lungs with clean air after the foulness he had endured. "Lenape, from the Turtle clan, were crossing the Amen apush trail on their way to Seneca country." He stopped and took a breath. "Our people were eager for news of the Lenape community on the far side of the Delaware River. White Owl sent a rider ahead." He wiped his brow with the back of his shirt sleeve. "They planned to meet the travelers at the Octoraro Creek."

  The slowness of his overseer's speech sparked an irrational anger within Wolf. Although he recognized Bear's exhaustion, Wolf wanted to know everything at once. The uncertainty of the whereabouts of the other members of the community ate at him. With difficulty, he sought and found the patience his grandfather constantly encouraged. "My father?" Silver Wolf asked, dropping the reins so the ends trailed on the ground.

  Bear shook his head, before pointing to the smoldering barn. "He, whose name we can no longer say, tried to prevent the soldiers from taking the horses."

  "Dead?" His father was dead? He did not want to believe it, but Brave Bear never spoke a false word. Looking again at the barn, Wolf curled his fingers into fists. "This will not go unpunished," he vowed. "How did he die?"

  Brave Bear hesitated.

  "How did he die?" Silver Wolf had to know. "Tell me all."

  "The women and children had left for the orchard. Then the soldiers arrived."

  The news eased his worry.

  "We asked what they wanted," Bear continued. "They said, 'Stand aside. We are here to collect the taxes.' We objected. They beat us, and then tied us." He pointed to the tall wooden post that once had supported a gate and a split-rail fence. "Your father asked them to leave a few of the animals. The fat corporal ordered him separated from us did not untie the bonds on his hands. Then the fat man said your father would to replace the animals in the barn. The soldiers laughed."

  Each word lengthened the lacerations that crisscrossed Wolf's gut, deepening his pain. Yet, he must hear the story. He closed his eyes. Images of the scene blasted his mind. He wanted to shout to Brave Bear to stop. He could not. Every bit of horror Wolf would use to stoke the fury within him. The soldiers would regret their cruelty. They would wish they had never come to Long Meadow Plantation. The son of… He could not even think his father's name, for that would dishonor the great man's memory. When the whites paid for their atrocities, his father would rest easily among the stars.

  "The fat corporal jumped on your father's back and tried to ride him toward the stable." Bear took a deep breath. Lines creased his face proclaiming his internal struggle. Wolf shared his foreman's distress, but needed to know.

  "He, whose name we may not say, attempted to throw him off. Then the fat corporal wrapped a scarf around his neck and choked him."

  Wolf grimaced. "Continue."

  "He refused to move. The fat corporal slammed the butt of his bayonet against your father's head." Brave Bear's nostril flared trying to maintain his control. "Do not ask me more."

  Wolf placed his hand on the man's arm. "I appreciate your sorrow, but you must tell me everything."

  "I tried to escape the bonds, but could not," Bear said with despair.

  For the first time, Wolf saw the rope burns on his foreman's wrists. "The marks prove your efforts." He squeezed Bear's elbow before releasing him.

  "They dragged his unconscious body into the barn." Brave Bear's voice cracked.

  Pain coursed through Wolf's system as he stared at the smoke-blackened, skeleton walls.

  Glancing down in shame, Bear said, "I failed."

  "Nay. No one could have done more." Bear looked as if he might argue the point. Wolf added, "There are too few of us. I need my braves alive. We will take our revenge." He dropped his hold.

  A sign of understanding and agreement passed over the foreman's exhausted face.

  "What else do you know about the soldiers?"

  "They were attached to Cornwallis."

  "How many were there?"

  "Five."

  For now, Wolf needed to hear no more. He gestured for Bear to cease reciting the facts. The ache inside, however, would not be silenced as quickly.

 
He stared at the stone shell of the barn as he walked closer. It had been full of dry hay. Even if the British had looted all the grain, the residual dust would have flamed like a greasy torch. The smoke from the dying fire filled his eyes and helped disguise the tear trickling down his cheeks. Only glowing ashes remained. He wanted to shout and tear his clothes, to follow his people's customs and show his grief, but he could not, not yet. His obligations and responsibilities forced him to turn his anguish inward and temporarily bury the sorrow within. Allowing himself one outward display, he bent down, picked up a cooled piece of charcoal and blackened his face and neck.

  His anger and pain added yet another thick, hard layer of protection to his once vulnerable heart. The need for revenge screamed inside him like an ancient warrior's cry. He vowed that when he had finished his duties here, he would seek the men responsible for his father's death. Not until he punished them would he allow himself to feel any emotion other than hate.

  "They caught us unaware," Bear said.

  That will not happen again, Wolf vowed, solemnly.

  "I am sorry," Brave Bear said as he drew near.

  Wolf let his gaze express his understanding and support. As he looked upon Bear's face, he noticed for the first time a clotted scab reaching from the man's eyebrow into his hairline. Although he knew he should instruct Bear to go and clean his wound, Wolf focused again on the destruction of the barn which now held the remains of his father. "We will tear the building down. The smaller stones will be a memorial to him whose name we may not say. The larger ones will be the foundation of our new barn." Whirling around, he quizzed, "Did you send anyone to search for Little Turtle and White Owl?"

  "Our neighbor, Jeremiah Low, saw the smoke and rode over before the sunset yesterday. He promised to search for them and to notify his regiment."

  Glancing at Brave Bear, Wolf sensed his foreman wanted to say more. "You said all the women and children had gone to the orchard."

  His man shook his head. "Not all."