Another Chance

by Janet Cooper

"How is she?" Sarah asked.

  "I have not seen her since we returned." Looking at his grandfather, he asked, "Has her conditioned changed?"

  "No," White Owl responded. "Nothing we do helps."

  Although Sarah wanted to learn more, hearing the older man's tone, she forbore asking. Later, she would speak to Wolf or one of the women. She restated her question. "If the woman has no talent or is infirm?"

  "All women have ability," White Owl said, "even the old."

  "But, if they cannot?" she pushed.

  "Then the community takes care of her," Wolf said, matter-of-factly.

  "What about a man?"

  "Age and gender matter not all. Our people help each other." Wolf stared at her. "Why do you ask?"

  The tales of old or maimed Indians sitting in the snow waiting to die had triggered her interrogation, but she could not admit that. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, "I’m interested in learning about other cultures."

  At the far end of the yard, smoke streamed from two small thatched sheds. Two other teenage girls stood nearby. As Sarah and her companions drew near, she saw them wrapping something in corn husks. The scent of fish filled the air. Next, one went to a small enclosed building and opened the door. The smell intensified. "A smoke house?"

  Wolf nodded. "Would you care for a sample?"

  Her stomach growled its acceptance. All three of them laughed.

  "May we have a taste?" White Owl asked the girls.

  "Certainly, XhanXhan," the shorter of the two replied, partly in English and partly in Lenape.

  "Can everyone speak English?" Sarah asked.

  "Since whites surround us, our people must understand and converse fluently in your language. If we did not, the settlers would take additional advantage of us," Wolf told her. Bitterness touched every syllable.

  The truth of his words embarrassed her, but her own inquisitiveness pushed her on. "The night of thy father's funeral, when we participated in the festival, thou spoke English." She stared at White Owl.

  "Since you and your father do not understand our language, it would have been impolite to use Lenape. My people understood," he said.

  "How thoughtful," she responded, remembering the foreign visitors who had to know English to survive in the United States. His comment, also, reinforced Silver Wolf’s rebuke of Little Turtle.

  "The tongue we use matters less than the words and the sincerity," the older man said.

  "To a Lenape," Wolf added, "honor and integrity are essential."

  The accent he placed on his people's name deepened her embarrassment. She knew history documented too often that in dealing with Indians, whites lacked both. Thankfully, the girl handed Sarah a corn husk, saving her from commenting. On top lay three bite size pieces of fish. After thanking the young woman, Sarah offered her hosts a piece.

  They declined.

  Lifting it toward her mouth, she blew before taking a taste. "It's delicious. What kind of fish?"

  "Wisa'ak, or fat fish. You say catfish," White Owl replied.

  "XhanXhan, may I serve you?" the taller teenager asked.

  "One, please."

  "Is KhanKhan, White Owl in Lenape?"

  "The word is spelled X h a n. We pronounce the x like a hard ch," Wolf said. "It means Grandfather."

  Sarah looked at the young woman, then at Wolf. "Is she thy daughter?"

  "Calling White Owl grandfather is a courtesy, a way of showing respect." Wolf's face sobered. "My wife had only one child before she was taken from me," he said, in a somber tone.

  Wolf must have loved his wife deeply or have recently lost her, or both for his mood changed swiftly. Unsure if she should offer her condolences or not, Sarah kept quiet.

  Without another word, Wolf said, "I must complete my work. Please excuse me."

  As she watched him leave, Sarah recalled his voice and the pain he had shown when he mentioned his wife. To compete with such love would be an impossible feat for anyone. For the first time since meeting him, Sarah was glad this existence was only a temporary one for her heart ached with an intensity she’d never before experienced.

  "Shall we return?" White Owl asked.

  She swung around and faced him. "If thou wishes," she said less than enthusiastically.

  "We can continue walking," he replied.

  "I would like that." Sarah wanted the clean, crisp air to chase the melancholy mood that had descended over her. "May I ask thee about thy wife?"

  White Owl smiled warmly. "Shall I tell you how we met?"

  Hoping to hear of romance and love, Sarah said, "Please."

  "Many, many seasons ago, in your year of 1728, I stopped at this plantation on my way west. What remained of my family had preceded me. The runoff from the spring rains had muddied the rivers. I thirsted for fresh water."

  Sarah considered asking why he had left his own land, but held her tongue, remembering how the Lenape and other tribes were driven from their property.

  "I discovered a young woman with hair the color of summer squash. Her eyes matched the distant hills on an early spring morning." He stopped at a fallen log. "Shall we?"

  From here, Sarah saw a small run, twisting its way between the two hills. In a few sections, the little creek held water. After a hard rain or in the spring, the stream would run full and fast and carry a heavy load of sediment. A canopy of oaks, tulip poplars, and maples with branches almost bare, allowed the sunlight to flow through. She scuffed her feet against the layer of newly fallen leaves, enjoying the sound and warmth of the sheltered spot then sat on the dead tree trunk.

  White Owl joined her.

  "It is beautiful and peaceful," she said.

  He nodded.

  "Pray, continue thy story," she said.

  "Emily was digging a third hole, near two shallow, empty graves."

  Chills raced up Sarah's spine.

  White Owl fingered the bow and arrow tattooed on his upper left arm. At home, such markings dismayed her, yet on this man they enhanced his physical prowess. Did many Lenape have them? she wondered.

  "As I approached, she drew back," White Owl said. "She spoke, but my English was not good. Using sign language, I told what I wanted. She gestured; I followed.

  "Her mother, father and five siblings had died. Emily was preparing the last three graves. We buried her father and two oldest brothers. Emily had no other family in America. I volunteered to stay and help until a white tenant farmer could be found." He picked up a stick and began carving the thick twig with a knife that he had drawn from his belt.

  "During the growing season, a few Lenape wandered by, offered their help, and stayed. After the Harvest Moon, we stored the crops. Still no tenant farmer came.

  "My love and admiration for Emily had grown. After many moons, we spoke of our feelings. I worried what my remaining would mean for Emily. Lenape and William Penn had worked well together. New immigrants and men greedy for land had created problems since that time of peace. My people work with the land. Whites use it. Many feared us. Others hated us." He shook his head. "Prejudice against us has a long life."

  Shaving off a piece of bark, White Owl began to smooth the small, crude deer he had carved. "For my dear Emily, it would be worse. To live either surrounded by the hatred of her own or segregated from them was a hardship I did not wish to inflict on her." Although he spoke quietly, his agony came through.

  How would she react to a similar situation? Could she love any man enough to give up her way of life for him? The image of a tall, ruggedly handsome Lenape burned into her brain. For the right man, she believed she could.

  "After arranging for my people to stay until a white tenant farmer could be found, I left without saying farewell to Emily." He stopped working, stared at the cobalt blue sky, and smiled. "As I rose the next morning, having spent a sleepless night on the trail, Emily crashed through the bushes." His face shone with joy at the memory. "Her cap gone and hair awry; her petticoat and apron dirty."

  He glanced at Sarah. "Wolf
admires the beauty of your chestnut hair, just as I prized Emily's thick, yellow strands."

  Sarah blushed at White Owl's comment about his grandson noticing her uncovered head.

  "She had walked all night, several times losing her way." His grin widened. "But she found me."

  "Perhaps she followed the stars, or the path thou made."

  Shaking his head, the old man said, "She had not the knowledge. Either her God or mine, she told me, had guided her to my camping spot.

  "We returned to Long Meadow Plantation. After much persuasion, Zachariah Low, a neighbor and Anglican priest, married us." White Owl fell silent.

  "What a wonderful tale," Sarah said finally.

  "Yes."

  Sarah twisted around to see Wolf leaning against the trunk of a tulip tree. Again, he had approached so quietly she had not heard him.

  "How long has thee been here?"

  "Since I started my story," White Owl said.

  Wolf smiled. Although he was an old man, his grandfather still surprised him with his excellent physical condition. Listening to his XhanXhan and observing Sarah's reaction gave the familiar tale added interest. He enjoyed watching her blush when White Owl mentioned her free flowing hair. From the first time he had seen her, with her cap askew, he had wished to run his fingers through her hair, measure the weight, and feel the texture.

  "My hearing has not failed, ne gwis," White Owl replied.

  "I came to invite you to eat," Wolf said.

  "Wonderful," Sarah said, jumping up. "After walking, I could eat anything."

  "Go without me," White Owl told them. "I prefer to sit and remember my love."

  "Thank thee for sharing thy wonderful story."

  "Take this." White Owl handed her the small delicate carving.

  "I shall treasure it. Thank thee." She tucked the tiny deer in her pocket.

  White Owl nodded.

  Wolf and Sarah walked in a comfortable silence. Occasionally, he heard her take a deep breath. Afterwards, she smiled.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Smelling the clean, clear air …" She inhaled deeply.

  "Most English prefer being inside," he said.

  She shook her head. "Not I, and never on a beautiful, brisk day."

  "You are different," he said.

  "That surprises thee?"

  "Yes."

  "Because I am white? Because I am a woman?" she questioned.

  "Both and more."

  "Since my first visit, I have told thee that I am my own person."

  He nodded. "I am difficult to convince."

  "Most people call that stubborn," she said, her eyes twinkling.

  The edge of his lips curved upward.

  Upon reaching the end of the woods, Sarah asked, "How long has thy grandmother been gone?"

  "Since I was Little Turtle's age," he replied.

  "Then, thee hardly remembers her."

  "I recall her hair, except when I knew her it was white."

  "What else?"

  "She sang lullabies. The words have faded, but the melody remains."

  "Is that all?"

  "No. The way my grandfather looked at her, and she at him," Wolf said.

  "Obviously, he loved her very much."

  “I have a question.” He nodded. “When your father passed, you won’t or couldn’t say his name, yet your Grandfather talks about his ‘Emily’. Why?”

  “Until the day she died, she accepted our beliefs, but kept to her Anglican religion. Not to say her name would show disrespect for her faith.

  “How wonderful that your people can honor different religions and not allow your own philosophies to shun others,” Sarah said.

  “We are taught to esteem all faiths.”

  Sarah glanced back to where she had left While Owl and noticed that Wolf did also. She no longer saw the old man. "I envy him," she said.

  "Do you crave the ugliness or the prejudice my grandmother experienced because of her marriage?" Wolf asked. "Or the agony XhanXhan weathered at her death." The image of his own wife flashed in his mind.

  She shook her head. "No, but what your grandparents shared, few find in a lifetime; even if the outside world did not approve."

  "Approve? The white's spurned her. When I was small, she seldom left the plantation because of the hatred she encountered from the English."

  "At least, she had your grandfather, a son …"

  He interrupted, "The emptiness caused by her death prevented him from taking another to wife."

  "Maybe memories are enough," she said softly.

  "No. They make the loneliness worse," Wolf said. Glancing at her, he saw no pity in her eyes. Her look helped him to continue, "The death of a wife leaves a man less than whole."

  She stopped. Her hand rose, then dropped. "Having never married nor loved that strongly, I cannot agree or disagree. Still, the wonder of sharing such a strong, powerful bond might compensate for the shortness of time together."

  From her response, Wolf realized she understood that he spoke about his own wife. "That depends on how the person dies," he said, as the memory returned of his young wife's lifeless body lying on the riverbank.

  Sarah started walking toward the house again. "My own grandparents died within a few months of each other. I never knew either one. Father said they had been a part of each other too long to live alone."

  "How fortunate they were," Wolf spoke harshly.

  "Thy grandfather had a son and a grandson to remind him of his wife," she said.

  To himself, he said, I have Little Turtle.

  The somber mood surrounded the air and penetrated into her being by the time they reached the house. Believing a new topic of conversation should be brought up, Sarah asked, "What are we having?"

  He stared at her, blankly.

  "To eat," she prompted. "That is why thee fetched me."

  "Oh."

  As they mounted the back steps, he remained quiet. Sarah wondered if he would answer. "When you stated you could eat anything, did you mean that?" Wolf said in a serious tone.

  She nodded.

  "Good," Wolf replied. "Our meals will be different from those you prepared at the tavern."

  Sarah thought about snakes and cringed. Chinese ate them, but she hoped the Lenape did not. Or if they did that they would not be served while she stayed at the farm. Perhaps, if she did not know what kind of meat was offered, she might manage. What happened if someone told her after she had eaten? Her stomach flipped at the thought. It might do more if such a situation occurred. With a mixture of apprehension, she asked, again, "What's on the menu?"

  "Ka'wia and Sun'gwe."

  "Translate, please."

  "Porcupine and muskrat."

  Sarah gasped and grabbed her mouth.

  Wolf raised his eyebrows and stared at her. "Do I detect a change in your attitude about eating?"

  She shook her head, unwilling to confess the truth of his statement. "I do not feel as hungry. A piece of cornbread will suit me just fine."

  "With bear grease spread on top?"

  She blanched. "Plain."

  Wolf opened the kitchen door. A delicious smell encircled her. "Porcupine and muskrat?" she questioned.

  "No," said the small, round woman stirring the cast iron pot. "Turkey soup."

  Wolf guffawed before adding, “We do eat the porcupine and muskrat …but not often.”

  Sarah rounded on him. "Thee was teasing me." She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  "Your expression …" he managed, laughing and talking simultaneously.

  As he continued chuckling, she softened and a small giggled escaped. Then, she looked him in the eyes. "I promise, I will pay thee back."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Long Knife bounded into the kitchen, nodded to Sarah and Bowl-Woman then focused his attention on Wolf.

  "What news?" Wolf asked.

  The young brave began speaking Lenape, and Wolf interrupted him before he had said more than a few words
. "We have no secrets from Sarah."

  The comment pleased her for he showed his trust and faith in her. She imagined Wolf seldom gave either to a white.

  A flash of red touched the lad's cheeks. "A Continental patrol reported to Sharp Arrow that British soldiers, matching the descriptions of the men who raided Long Meadow and the Stones' tavern, were spotted near Pocopson. The troopers had followed their trail but lost the track in the woods."

  A slight smile touched Wolf's lips. "Let us see if we can find what Washington's men couldn't," he said, his voice full of determination. Pushing back his chair, he looked directly at Sarah. "Remember Benjamin is safer while you are here with us."

  As he spoke, she studied his face. Had concern for her as well as her father influenced his words? Had he guessed she might leave while he was gone? He lowered his lids, preventing her from discovering the answer to the question.

  "I will see you when I return. Take care of her, Bowl-Woman," Wolf added, before twisting on his heel and hastening out the door.

  Although his regard for her gladdened her heart, she needed no one to ‘take care of her.’ Slightly annoyed, she still followed him to the door and watched him striding toward his horse. He moved effortlessly. His lean, muscular body concealed, yet emphasized by the loose buckskin shirt he wore.

  Her previous displeasure melted, replaced by fear. "Be careful," she called as he mounted Amen apush.

  He saluted then rode off with Long Knife by his side.

  Sarah remained in the same place long after Wolf had ridden out of sight. For the first time since her arrival in the 1700's, she had free time. Actually, she could hardly recall any time in her real past that nothing screamed for her attention, with a job or schooling or home to balance. She often had wished for the quiet and peace, now that she had them she wondered what she would do to occupy her herself. I guess I'm impossible to please.

  She smiled, remembering the mountain of apples she had peeled, cored, and cooked. Even exhaustion suited her better than boredom. If she had a book, she would seek out a comfortable chair and indulge, but she had brought none with her and had not seen any in the house. If Bowl-Woman had not earlier rejected her offer of help, Sarah could occupy a few hours cleaning and cooking, not that either occupation excited her after her recent experience at the tavern.