by Janet Cooper
"Lenape braves normally wear their hair long. When we go on the war path, we leave only a small lock of hair on the crown of our heads."
The word warpath had startled Sarah, but she tried not to show her inner battle. She must have failed because he added, "By leaving only a tuft of hair on top my enemy has less to grab." His face showed little emotion, but his eyes appeared to gleam.
She shivered at his words. "Thy people are going on the war path?"
CHAPTER FOUR
"We will destroy the soldiers who raided, murdered and violated our people and our land," he said, his voice a deadly calm.
The sky had darkened as if joining the Lenape in their sorrow. Would rain come or would just the mantle of heavy, gray clouds cover the land? she wondered. Sarah thoughts shook her. She broke her gaze and stared at the burial mound. Torches formed a boundary at the rear of the area and lit up the monument. An old woman approached. A closed cape-like garment hung to her waist. Shells and small glass beads decorated the front and embroidered borders graced the hem. From her waist to her knees, she had wrapped a buckskin skirt. She held it in place with a wampum belt. Beneath this, she wore leggings, also trimmed with embroidery. On her ankles and wrists, tiny silver bells dangled and rang softly as she walked. Her long hair, streaked with gray, had been pulled back, then rolled up and secured with a net bag of some type. She carried a basket filled with corn, squash, and pumpkin that she placed in front of the long oak log. When she had arranged the vegetables to suit her, she sat, faced the monument and wailed.
Sarah jumped. The mournful sound broke the silence that had surrounded the grave.
"My people tear their clothes, blacken their faces and cry as they lament the dead," Luke said, a testiness in his tone.
"They did that in the Bible," Sarah stated nonchalantly, for he had come full circle, back to the resentment she'd earlier sensed and heard. She intended to let him know, in a gentle manner, that the rites of his people intrigued, but did not appall her.
He glanced at her.
She smiled encouragingly.
"The food we place before the monument will help nourish the spirit-essence as it prepares for the long journey to the sky." Luke kept his attention focused on Sarah as if waiting for her to show her revulsion at this custom.
"What a wonderful gift," she said with sincerity.
His features softened. "To our people, it is.
Sarah observed the old woman once more.
Wolf looked at her from the corner of his eye. She sounded sincere, he thought. Still, what did she really think about his people's burial rites? Was the ceremony offending her white beliefs? From her actions, he thought not, but what did her feelings mattered to him. He did worry her response might offend his grandfather. So far, he admitted, she had behaved well for an outsider.
While they spoke, the woman’s chanting increased in volume. Her voice sealed the early evening activities with sadness and melancholy. Soon, other men, women and children appeared, all dressed in a similar fashion. They dropped rush mats on the ground, forming an open circle. The burial monument became one segment, and the people completed the ring. In the center, a large fire burned giving light to the inside enclosure.
Benjamin and Little Turtle returned during this time. The boy handed a buckskin shirt trimmed with beads and small shells to Luke. When he slipped it on, Sarah felt a sense of disappointment. He glanced at her. She flushed, sensing he had read her mind. Luke led them to cushions of woven straw that directly faced the gravel mound. He placed Benjamin on the far left and Sarah next to him. The small boy squatted between Luke and White Owl. In profile, the three Keenans resembled one another. Little Turtle straightened his back and mimicked his father and great-grandfather. What a handsome boy he was. Surely, they could be friends.
Unable to contain her curiosity, Sarah asked, "What is happening now?"
"We honor my father by having a feast in his name."
Sarah waited.
"Placing our mats in a circle around the pyramid allows him whose heart flies free to join our celebration," Luke added.
White Owl stood. "My people." He held out his hands. The firelight added streaks of red to his silver-white hair. The soft glow masked the facial lines so visible earlier today. "Tonight, gifts will be given to each of you, in memory of my son." His voice rang out strong and firm, denying his years. "During our festival, we remember him whose name we cannot say by recalling his deeds."
Luke leaned over to Sarah and her father and spoke softly, "My son and I will pass out tokens of affection. We have selected a special remembrance for each member of our community."
The man and boy rose and, after picking up two trays piled high with various items, walked around inside the circle. At the foot of each person, they laid a gift. To Sarah's shock, she received a small box made of porcupine quills. It was beautiful. She looked up at Luke. The barest hint of a smile touched his lips. She opened her mouth to say, "Thanks," but noticed no one else had uttered a word. Instead, she smiled her appreciation, then lifted her gift and admired the delicate workmanship.
Sarah noticed Little Turtle had presented Benjamin with a wooden whistle. She admired the carvings that adorned the recorder-like instrument.
Trailing behind the Keenans, the house servants distributed what Sarah assumed was food into the large bowls or wooden trenchers that sat before each person. As the women came closer, the smells confirmed Sarah's guess. Her knowledge of what food the colonists ate helped her recognize the various dishes. Chunks of deer meat on wooden spits came first; then slices of broiled fish were placed nearby. One woman carried a clay pot and her helper dipped the stewed pumpkins onto the plates, while another ladled squash. Next, corn cakes mixed with some type of berries. Finally, a woman poured a dark liquid into earthenware mugs. When all the people had received their share, food was placed on the mat before the grave site.
"May our offerings help prepare you for your journey," the boy said in a humble and solemn tone as he faced the monument.
Although Sarah could not see Little Turtle's face, his voice brought tears to her eyes. Luke put his hand on his son's shoulder. The child looked up. The reflection from the firelight caught the tears that rolled down the boy's face. As her attention shifted to Luke, she saw a streak of flesh colored skin. He, too, had shed tears that had washed a wavy line through the charcoal mask he had painted on earlier.
She remembered a painting by N. C. Wyeth called ‘Silent Burial’. The illustration showed a very stoic Indian with a solemn, soulful expression. Every time she had seen the oil, she had thought she could see a tear in the warrior's eyes. Staring at Silver Wolf, she felt sure she had. Silver Wolf? Why had his Lenape name struck her? As she watched him, she realized it suited him far better than Luke.
Gently, Luke turned the boy, and the two trudged back to their seats. As they approached, the deep tie and love the father and son felt for one another shone around them. Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat at such tenderness.
After everyone had started eating, Sarah took a sip of her drink. She tried to identify the mixture, but wasn't sure. Since she wanted to make friends with the boy, she asked, "What are we drinking, Little Turtle?" She leaned forward, trying to catch his eye.
"I do not know," he responded gruffly, staring at the fire.
"Yes, you do," his father said, quietly but very firmly.
"Why should I answer a white?" the small boy snapped back.
Sarah sat upright.
Silver Wolf whirled on his son. "She is our guest. You will answer the question, politely."
"It's all right. Don't scold him," Sarah pleaded. "With all that has happened…"
"Lenape children obey their parents and must never be rude to guests. I appreciate your understanding. However, such behavior is not acceptable."
"Water, honey and blueberries," Little Turtle replied tartly, then glanced at his father.
"Thank you for telling me. It is very good." Instead of br
eaking down Little Turtle's barrier of prejudice, she had created another wall. Sarah considered telling Silver Wolf not to blame his son, for the child only repeated the words and actions of his father. Instead, she remembered her status as a guest and remained quiet.
Sarah reached for her drink, needing to create a facade of normalcy and give herself time to decide what to do or say next. In her haste, her hand brushed against Silver Wolf's. Electric current pulsed through her. She pulled back. Her cup tipped, and Silver Wolf steadied it. He examined her closely. Had he felt it too? Sarah swallowed hard. "Thank you," she squeaked. Unsure of what else to say, and sure her voice would not sound normal, she shifted her attention and focused on the other people.
Silver Wolf pulled away. The heat that raced through him was reminiscent of the first moments inside the pimoa' kun, when blood rushes to the surface of the skin, an instant before sweat breaks out and drenches the body.
Yet, he could not deny how soft the back of her hand had felt against his weathered one. His senses had responded to her the first time he had seen her appraising him; the thoughts and images Sarah created within him dismayed and discomforted him. He neither wanted nor needed any emotional involvement, either then or now. Being white made the situation worse. Hoping to dim or even dispel the sensations, Silver Wolf focused on the fire burning in the center of the circle. He tried to concentrate on things other than Sarah.
Gratefully, his grandfather rose to speak, and all conversations ceased. Wolf focused his attention on his elder and away from the distraction beside him.
Sarah had tried to observe all the Lenape sitting in the large circle, but having a handsome, compelling brave only inches away had made the task much more difficult. She hoped her interest in history would win the battle that warred with her attraction to the intriguing Lenape who sat by her side.
When quiet reigned and White Owl stood before the assembly, his magnetism eased her problem. As he shed his blanket, the fragile old man Sarah had met fell away. In his place stood the warrior, straight and tall, the undisputed leader of his people.
What type of eulogy will White Owl deliver? she wondered, trying to maintain a strictly scholarly interest.
"We have witnessed and experienced many sorrows through the years," he said, his voice strong and firm. "When the white men appeared, our times of grief multiplied like the skunk cabbage after a heavy spring rain. Today, we share our land with those who cheated and lied to us."
A rush of embarrassment flowed over her. Benjamin reached for her hand and squeezed it, briefly. His reaction surprised her. Except for his brief kiss last evening, Sarah had seen only the solemn and dictatorial side of him. Did his stern facade hide a softer, understanding man? Scarcely twisting her head, she sent him a tentative nod. He returned her gesture.
White Owl continued, "For the last fifty years, our people have found a small parcel of peace here at Long Meadow. My wife and her English family, who purchased this property from our Lenape ancestors, took me in after many of our people were forced to leave their home."
Sarah looked at Silver Wolf. This explained his lighter skin, but since his grandmother was white, why did he hate the race so much? Having married outside his own tribe, his grandfather obviously did not share this feeling. From whom had Silver Wolf developed such a strong dislike? His dead father? Would his father not have loved his own mother? Sarah had no answers to her questions. She stared at the Lenape. If he sensed her attention, he failed to acknowledge it.
"Beyond the plantation's borders, on the land of our ancestors, few of us survive," White Owl went on. "This farm and community prosper because we have nurtured the soil and not forsaken the culture of the Lenape.
"During the war between the French and English, none of their battles disturbed the peace we had achieved here on our own property. When our brethren, living near the Allegheny and Mongehela, asked for aid, Thunder Cloud," he pointed to the old man sitting before what looked like a log drum, "and some of your fathers joined me. We journeyed west and fought with the French, hoping to defeat the redcoats. Many battles were won, but the British still rule. Now, their troops come here to destroy us. We will protect ourselves from their invasion."
A few warriors drummed on the ground with their hands, showing their approval. Thunder Cloud pounded on the leather skin with energy that defied his age.
Sarah glanced from the White Owl to Silver Wolf. From the firm set of his jaw to his ridged back, tension controlled the man seated beside her. Occasionally, Sarah sensed his eyes on her. She had never caught him looking, but knew he had. When her hand had grazed his, had he felt the energy that flowed between them? His expression gave nothing away. Since their brief touch, he had shifted on his mat, keeping a small space between them. Yet, his aura of power and masculine strength touched her.
A terrible idea struck her. Had horror or guilt that they should be experiencing such emotions in the midst of grief forced him to keep his distance? Did his dislike of whites compel him to reestablish the barrier between them? Unable to discover any answers, Sarah focused on White Owl and the ceremony.
"Men and women will arm themselves," the old man said. "Our young boys will act as scouts and warn us if soldiers or any enemy approach. We will not desert the plantation. We will stay and continue to do homage to our forebears. We will survive and triumph."
Shouts of agreement rent the air. Wolf jumped up, raised his head to the sky, and gave a war cry. The other braves bounded from their seats and joined him. Over the din, Silver Wolf called, "We will avenge my father and Quick Rabbit." He punched the sky with his right hand.
Sarah wondered who Quick Rabbit was. What else had happened that needed avenging? Benjamin's face showed his horror, and he rose quickly. Hastily, Sarah joined him. She realized his beliefs forbade him from listening to plans that featured vengeance and violence. While she did not share his revulsion at Silver Wolf's performance, being basically a nonviolent person, she did understand Silver Wolf's reasons and anger.
"Sarah, we must retire. We leave early tomorrow," her father said.
He must have seen the disappointment on her face.
"The rest of the ceremony may not be appropriate for those of us who follow the rules of the Society," Benjamin added.
Benjamin's blunt words embarrassed her.
"I understand your decision to leave," Silver Wolf said, turning from the circle and speaking directly to them. "Our ways are dissimilar. Please forgive me if I do not escort you to your rooms." His voice showed no anger, only a tone of acceptance.
Unwilling to leave before the ritual ended, Sarah replied, "Must I go, Father? The ceremony is so unlike ours. I want to learn about the Lenape and their customs."
Benjamin's face showed bewilderment and hurt at her decision. "Thou art a grown woman. I shall not force thee." His tone of voice confirmed the disappointment and the disapproval that his words had not. He pivoted on his heel and strode away.
His expression brought her pain. He is really angry, Sarah thought. Should she leave? She squared her shoulders and looked up at Silver Wolf. "Would thou prefer I join my father?"
"You may stay as long as you wish." He gestured to the mats and they sat.
Uncomfortable at disobeying Benjamin in front of Silver Wolf, she glanced over her shoulder and watched the older man walk into the house. Pushing her reservations aside, Sarah turned her attention again to the ritual.
She glanced toward the fire and saw that the men and boys had formed a circle and appeared to be dancing.
"May I join them?" asked Little Turtle.
Smiling, Silver Wolf said, "Go. Add your power."
"What are they doing?" Sarah asked, becoming involved with the ceremony and permitting Benjamin and his concerns to recede for the moment.
"They begin the Dance of Strength," Silver Wolf replied.
Soon, the women and girls stood and began singing. They surrounded the braves, creating another ring. "The double band increases the potency of o
ur petition," Silver Wolf stated. "The oldest brave in the village beats upon a hollowed-out log covered with deerskin."
Deep bass tones reverberated on the ground, increasing the frenzy of the steps. The men, women, and children moved in an almost stylized, set pattern. "Are there prescribed steps to follow?" Sarah asked.
"Not really. Would you like to try?" Silver Wolf asked. He lifted an eyebrow.
Sarah started to rise then remembered Benjamin. "Yes, but my father would never approve and I have displeased him enough today." She sighed. "Go, join them if thou wilt. I will sit here with thy grandfather and the old drummer." The wistfulness in her voice shone through her words.
Silver Wolf laughed.
The sound surprised her. She twisted on the mat. His face had lightened, the lines on it lessened, and the harshness diminished. She enjoyed seeing another side of this somber man. "You have disobeyed him before," Silver Wolf replied.
Did she detect teasing in his tone? She thought about his comment. "No. I challenged his control. My participation will hurt him. I cannot do that. He is stern, but soft inside." As she stated the words, she realized she spoke the truth.
"I will stay by your side and watch, in case you have questions."
She smiled. A short while later, she started tapping in time with the drum.
Silver Wolf glanced at her.
"This is allowed," she retorted, although she knew not whether she spoke the truth.
He chuckled.
His light laughter surprised her. She wished he would do so more often.
Eventually, the music stopped and the dancers returned to their seats. Little Turtle collapsed on his mat and lay his head on his father's thigh. Gently, Silver Wolf lifted the boy and placed him totally on the rush cushion. A soft murmur of protest rose from the child.
"Hush, my son."
The lad immediately stilled.
With grace, Silver Wolf stood, and everyone else squatted on the ground. "We start our watches tonight."
Although he had not elevated his voice, Sarah knew all heard him speak. She watched as he selected the braves for the first patrol. When Silver Wolf finished, cheering filled the night sky. Many people jumped up and danced a few steps then they picked up their bowls, mats, and other possessions, and headed toward the cabins.