by Janet Cooper
He detected in her voice deep concern possibly fear at his response.
"The only other explanation is that thee and all of those around us are a dream." Her gaze never shifted from his face.
"I can assure you," he said softly, grateful to be able to respond truthfully, "I am much too real to be a figment of your imagination." He touched her cheek.
"I know this is impossible to believe. Wait, I have proof." She rolled over him and started to rise.
"Where are you going?"
"To get something to show thee." She rummaged through her clothes, found her pocket, and reached inside. Clutching something in her fist, she hurried back to the pallet, smiling with pleasure.
Wolf slid over and gestured for her to join him.
Sarah sat on the side of the bed and opened her hand. "This is a Swiss army knife. Here, thee can open it."
He stared at the red case. "Was material is this?"
"Plastic."
"Plastic?" he looked at her.
"Plastic. It's made from oil."
"Oil? Like oil from sunflowers?" he questioned.
"This oil comes from the ground."
"Oh?" Wolf glanced from Sarah to the knife holder and back again.
"Please. Trust me."
He nodded. Slowly, he pulled out the first blade. Next, he pulled out another.
"Keep going," she said.
He uncovered a small pair of scissors then a file. "What is this?"
"That is a screw driver."
"For what purpose?" Wolf asked.
"It fits in the slots on the top of a screw. Haven't screws been invented?"
"I have no knowledge of screws."
“Perhaps carpenters use pegs.” She shrugged.
He eased a twisted piece of metal from the case. "This?"
"A corkscrew."
"For these screws?" he gestured to the previous tool.
"No. A corkscrew opens wine bottles." She shook her head. “In thy century, most wine jars have plugs.
He eyed her curiously as he flicked up a hook-shaped object. "This?"
"A can opener."
Lifting one eyebrow, Wolf said, "A can opener."
"I know they haven't been invented. When they are, this gadget will pry them open." Her face begged him to believe her.
With infinite care, he folded each section back into the case and handed the knife back to her. "I have never seen such a thing before. Many of those 'gadgets' are strange to me."
She placed the knife on the floor and looked at him. "Thee believes my tale?"
Wolf wondered how to respond. She needed him to trust her and not discredit her account. Yet, how could he?
A single tear escaped, trickling across her nose and down her cheek. He eased her down next to him, kissed the salty liquid, giving himself an additional few minutes, while he thought about the unexplained mysteries in Sarah's life. If her comments were true, it would explain the European travel, her independent nature, so different from other Quakers, her easy acceptance of his people and their culture, and the canoeing trip. Still, try as he might, the idea remained incomprehensible to him.
Since he could not believe her story, but knew Sarah needed a response, he asked, "Have you ever traveled in time before?"
"No. And I don't know how I managed to get to thy century." Her voice cracked.
Rubbing her shoulder and her arm, he said, curious to learn more and anxious to believe her, "Tell me exactly what happened to you."
While he heard Sarah's story, mixed emotions churned inside him. Is she one of those selected by the gods to have visions others cannot see? The ones the whites call crazy? No, not Sarah. My people believe spirits roam the earth. Can a spirit have possessed her? Has that other soul given or arranged for her to find the knife? If Sarah's statements were true … Suddenly, a far more dreadful thought filled him. Was she here for a particular reason? "Will you return?"
"I don't know. Since I don’t know how I arrived here, I have no idea how to get back to my century."
"If you could leave, would you?" He hated to ask, for he dreaded her answer, yet he must find out.
She stared at him. "If thee had asked me a week ago, even a few days ago, I would have replied, I will go as soon as possible."
Again, he saw tears building in her eyes.
"I love my friends, but …"
Hearing her say 'but' sparked hope inside him for he needed her to stay. "But?"
"I love thee. And Little Turtle and thy people, more than I ever thought possible," Sarah said. "My life is here."
Wolf wrapped his arms around her, clutching her to him. "We Lenape believe all our thoughts and prayers are heard by those no longer with us. Surely, this is just as true with the future as the past."
"I want to believe that." She sniffed.
"Then do."
"I shall try," she said.
"Good." He kissed the top of her hair.
"Does what I've said change thy feelings about me?" she asked timidly.
"No." He remembered vowing never to repeat his grandfather's situation, yet with a single word, he had just broken his oath. If Sarah returns to her own time? The thought cramped his gut. I will have her memory to keep by my side. To her, he said, "Your words explain many of the comments you have made and some of your attitudes and actions."
"Thee believes me?" she asked. Hope rang from every syllable.
Although he did not understand how or why she had come, she needed him to believe her. Forcing aside his strong doubts, Wolf replied, "Yes."
She hugged him tight.
He returned her squeeze. Curious about the future, he said, "Tell me about your century. Are my people still victimized by the whites? Are they discriminated against?" He pushed his hand across her hair and twisted the ends in his fingers.
Her face reddened. "We, uhhh, the people in my time, are trying to make amends for the previous treatment of all 'Native Americans'-the name often to all Indians tribes." She looked at him and nibbled on her bottom lip.
"When did this start?"
Sarah tensed in his arms and her colored heightened. "Less than forty years ago," she replied softly.
His eyes flew open, unable to hide his shock. "My people must suffer for another two hundred years?" An ache grew within him as if a spear had been jabbed into his gut then twisted. "What happens to them during this period?"
He sensed her hesitation, yet he had to know. "What you share will stay with me."
Touching his cheek bone with her finger tips, she said, "Most of the Lenape move to the Ohio territory or up to Canada. Some, living in New Jersey, journey north into New York State and join with tribes there. Eventually, a few travel over a thousand miles west and live in a state we call Oklahoma. That clan changed their name to Delaware."
"Do none of my people stay here?" He searched her face for an answer.
She nodded. "Many intermarried with whites. Others found refuge in the Pinebarrens of New Jersey. A few groups stayed together in secluded areas. Quakers adopt some Lenape children."
He nodded since this last practice had already started.
"In my century, many survivors have revitalized the culture and seek to demonstrate the skills and crafts of thy people. They have retained the name Lenape."
"What might my people do to prevent what you said from occurring?" Although he asked the question, his own dealings with whites made him doubt the wisdom of even inquiring.
Slowly, she shook her head. "Thy people and all of the other Native Americans tried to compromise and adapt." Tears formed in her eyes. "My country signed treaties with various tribes, but constantly broke them."
"Or changed the rules as they did with the 'Walking Purchase'?" He allowed his bitterness to show. Wolf remembered how after purchasing a segment of land from his people, the whites manipulated the agreement and ended with three times as much property.
She nodded. "The greed and the influx of new immigrants pouring into America, also, cont
ributed to the cause. We were seldom honest in our dealings with thy people." She cried.
"Hush, my Sarah." He gently wiped the moisture from her face with his fingers, then kissed each eye lid. "You are not to blame. What you have told me only intensifies my desire to keep what is mine."
"Please do not hate us," she pleaded.
"I could never hate you." He touched her lips with his, pulled her against him, and squeezed her tight.
She buried her head against his chest.
"Never will I speak of what you have told me. My people must hope that the future will improve. Hearing what you have said will destroy their dreams."
"I …"
"Hush." He rested his chin on the top of her head. "Tell me what is good about your century." He would never forget what she had told him, but dwelling on what he could not change would avail him nothing.
"We can fly."
Pushing away slightly, he stared at her. "Fly?"
She laughed. "Not like a bird. We have planes. They are large, metal ships that fly."
"Impossible."
Shaking her head, she said, "No, truly we do. I can climb into one, sit, and half a day later arrive in Europe."
"How is that possible?"
"Has thee ever heard of a 'steam engine'?" she asked.
The name triggered a memory. "While I was in England, a man, Watt, I think, was working on one."
Sarah nodded. "His idea worked. Many other machines are driven by similar devices. His engine and other modifications help us produce more manufactured goods for people for less money. We also have carts that need no horses to pull them."
He shook his head, trying to picture a wagon with nothing in front to move it forward or back. "Strange."
"We call them cars and trucks. They use the same type of power that Watt developed. That's why I didn't need to learn how to ride a horse. I learned how to drive a car."
"Enough," Wolf said, pulling her close once more. "You have told me many things, but none of what I have heard makes me wish to live in your century."
She snuggled against his chest and sighed.
"What of love-making? Are the methods the same?" He traced a line down her arm with the edge of his nails. "Have you discovered a new way to arouse a man?" His tongue followed the path his fingers had sketched.
"Well … " Her eyes danced with amusement.
He rolled onto his back, folded his arms, and looked at her. "Show me."
She put one foot on the floor.
Wolf grabbed her before she left the bed. "Where are you going?" He twisted onto his side and rested his elbow on the mattress and placed his head on his hand.
"Patience." She blew him a kiss, before heading toward the cupboard.
Her heart-shaped buttocks swayed as she walked across the room. His groin tightened, and his manhood rose. "I like the view."
She whirled around. "Thank thee, kind sir."
"However, I prefer the one that I am seeing now." Her firm breasts and small, taut nipples stood upright. A glimmer of moisture showed just above her tight nest of curls. His desire grew even when she turned away to open the small wall-unit. Her body blocked her actions, so he fantasized, planning how he would next make love to her. He would lick her from the top of her spine to the base of her torso. Then his tongue would glide over the crevasse separating her cheeks and continue his journey around her firm, bottom …
Before he could complete his fantasy, Sarah turned around holding a cloth in her hand. She walked to the table, picked up the water jar, and approached him. "Are we drinking or bathing?" he teased.
"I am washing thee." Her eyes twinkled with merriment.
Lying back, he stretched out his arms and said, "Do with me as you will."
Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, uncorked the jar, and poured a small amount of water onto the cloth. Next, she took a sliver of soap and scrubbed it against the linen. "This may be cold." She placed the wet rag on his stomach.
He took a deep breath. "Is this love-making or torture?"
She giggled. "If thee had hot running water, like we do in my century, thee would not be suffering."
"That is the first invention from the future that has value," he replied.
She smiled as she moistened the cloth.
Stealing himself for the next step, he discovered his body enjoyed the coolness after the heat their loving and his desire had created.
Carefully, she wiped his chest and shoulders. Between the washing, she rinsed off the soap. After taking hold of his left arm, she tucked his wrist under her armpit. As she scrubbed, his free hand massaged her back. When she had finished with his torso, she scooted backwards. After moistening the cloth and adding the soap, she placed the cloth between her breasts, before slowly rubbing the rag over her shoulder.
"Let me." He reached to take the linen.
"No, thee must only watch." She drew the small piece of material across her chest and down her stomach.
"Sarah, you are tormenting me." He breathed deeply.
"Is thee enjoying what thee is seeing?" Her words caressed him.
"Enjoying?" He swallowed. "Agonizing would be a closer word."
"Soon thy suffering will end."
He rubbed his scalp lock. "If it doesn't, I will explode right in front of you.
Giggling, she again prepared the cloth. Slowly, she kneaded the rag between her two hands. With infinite care, she placed the warm cloth over his manhood.
He stiffened.
"Shall I stop?"
"Never," he managed to say.
Time moved slowly, yet rapidly as she stroked his strong shaft. He pulsed beneath her light, easy movements. With difficulty, he kept his body from twisting and reeling beneath her touch. Then, she cradled his twin sacks with the cloth.
"E-e!"
She changed her soft movements to a stronger, yet still arousing caress.
He arched his back, and she placed her mouth over him.
With difficulty, he sucked in his breath. She lathered his skin with her tongue, twisting from one side to the other, taking him deep inside her. He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away. Grabbing the edges of the bed, he kept himself fully inside her. "I need you. Let me love you while you love me."
She continued ministering to him.
"Please."
Her lips freed him and she said, "I must wash."
"No. My mouth will clean you, while I will enjoy the flavors of our lovemaking. "Before she could object, he twisted on top of her and began his assault. She smelled like a woman should when aroused. The aroma added another spark to the passion flaming inside him. Moisture greeted his tongue when he touched the short curls that guarded the entrance to her womanhood. He drew them into his mouth and sucked the salty-sweet juice. His tongue lapped her nether lips and teased her seat of desire, helping it to grow. He drank again, and his thirst increased. Plunging into her dark well, he sought to find and claim her soul.
Gasping, she cried, "Take me!"
He wrenched around and placed her on top.
She covered his throbbing manhood with her wet sheath and locked her legs beneath his buttocks. Each move she made, he matched. The light from the fireplace gleamed off her damp face. His hands caressed her breasts, kneading her nipples. She shoved herself toward him. He pushed deeper inside her.
"Together," she said. "We must come together."
"Yes!" he managed.
She rode him like a stallion, while he bucked and swayed within her. The veins on her neck stretched against her skin as she arched her back and claimed more of him.
"Now!" he shouted.
Her cry of pleasure joined his, and their duet filled the cabin.
She collapsed against him. They clung to each other. Their hearts raced, synchronized with one another.
He enjoyed having her body touching his, enjoyed supporting her, and enjoyed the intimacy of their lovemaking. For a long while, they lay without speaking or moving. Finally, he rolled her to her s
ide, caught a tendril of hair, and kissed the end. "I wonder if making love to a spirit-woman will give me extra power," he teased.
"Men."
He laughed aloud.
She placed the flat of her palms against his chest and pushed.
Wolf nearly fell off the bed, but saved himself by grabbing hold of her. They teetered for a moment before he rolled on top of her and started loving her all over again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The first star of the evening greeted them as they left the cabin and headed toward the farmhouse. A sense of contentment and serenity surrounded Sarah as they strolled hand in hand. Wolf had received her announcement about her "other life" more easily than she would have done under the same circumstances. Perhaps his religious beliefs allowed him to accept more on trust and faith than hers did. Whatever the reason, his reaction definitely pleased her.
As they walked into the kitchen, Little Turtle greeted them. "Where have you been? Jeremiah Low has been waiting for the longest time."
Stepping forward, Jeremiah shook Wolf's hand and nodded to Sarah. "Actually, I barely had a chance to taste my berry water before you arrived.
"Little Turtle told me about the incident with the corporal." A frown replaced his affable expression. "Damn! I wanted him."
"No more than I." Wolf's harsh tone, more than words, displayed his deep feelings. He gestured for Jeremiah to retake his seat. "Did you get the supplies to Washington?"
"Safely delivered." He took a quick swallow and cradled the earthenware mug in his hands.
"The soldiers?" Wolf asked.
"Those, too," he said, nodding his head for added emphasis.
Sarah broke in, "Jeremiah. Does thou know where Long Knife and Daniel Woodley's unit is?"
His warm smiled pleased her. "Not off hand, but headquarters will. Why?"
"Quick Rabbit asked for her son today," she said, but did not add her own concern.
"She spoke?" asked Jeremiah, who knew about the tragedy. "She's better?" His wide eyes showed his surprise as he glanced from Sarah to Wolf and back again.
"A little," Sarah said. "At least, she showed interest in Long Knife."
"That's splendid. Luke has kept me informed about her condition," Jeremiah responded. "Perhaps he told you since both of us had lost our mothers while we were quite young, Quick Rabbit often tried to take their places." He laughed. "She was only a few years older, and I can't say we appreciated her attempts. Did we?" Jeremiah punched Wolf's biceps.