Grace and the Guiltless

by Erin Johnson

  Sequoyah nudged her. “Take your wash.”

  “I — I can’t. Not until Joe’s gone.”

  Sequoyah looked startled. “Why?”

  “I’m not taking my clothes off in front of him,” Grace whispered.

  “I do not understand.”

  She stared at Sequoyah. “You’d undress in front of men? Let them see you naked — without clothes?”

  “But that is how Usen made you.” Sequoyah laughed. “Babies are not born with clothes on.”

  Abby and Zeke had never gone without clothes unless they were getting their diapers changed. But Grace had noticed that many of the Ndeh children ran around naked.

  Sequoyah called over to Joe. “You must go. Ger-race will not take bath with you here.”

  Joe’s cheeks reddened, but they were no match for the heat enveloping Grace’s face by now.

  “Oh . . . of course not,” Joe said. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like he was swallowing hard. “The English do things differently than the Ndeh.” His words came out a bit husky.

  Hastily, he slid his moccasins over his feet and up his legs, cuffing them at the top and sliding a knife into one side. Then he reached down and swiped up his buckskin shirt, his pouch, and his beaded necklaces quickly. He squashed them under one arm, and with the other he picked up his hat and set it on his still-damp hair. “Uh, good day, ladies.” He hurried up the bank as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “Now you can wash.” Sequoyah grinned and handed Grace the yucca jar.

  Was she going to stand there and watch? Grace had never bathed in front of anyone but her mother during their weekly Saturday night baths. She turned her back and started to slip off her leggings, but when she bent, the ground whirled before her eyes. She pitched forward, and from a distance she heard Sequoyah call out, but Grace couldn’t make out the words.

  Gentle hands lowered her to the ground. “You should be in bed.” Sequoyah’s scolding words in English were followed by a string of strange sounds with varying pitches and tones.

  “I . . . I’m all right.” Grace pushed herself upright with her good arm. “Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

  “I will call Joe to help?”

  “No, no, don’t do that. I can do this myself.” Grace forced herself to stand and then walked slowly toward the stream. She decided she would take her clothes off once she was in there.

  The shock of the icy water made Grace gasp, but it cleared her head. She grabbed an overhanging branch to keep herself steady and realized that her palms didn’t sting anymore. She studied her sore arm. The skin was mostly pink with a few blotches of dead, peeling skin. Her injuries had been coated with an ointment of some kind. Cheveyo must be a magician. Or would her hands have healed the same on their own, given time? Joe had never answered her question about how long she had been at the camp.

  She struggled to free herself from the sopping-wet clothes dragging her down, and when she tossed them on the bank, Sequoyah handed her the yucca.

  Grace scrubbed away layers of grime and sweat with relief. The cool, clear water and mild scent of the suds brought back memories of the hip bath at the bordello, and then of her family’s Saturday night baths. Zeke would go first, then Abby. Pa and Daniel always left the house, and after Grace had her bath, she waited for Ma on the porch. Pa’s pipe glowed against the evening sky while he and Daniel waited near the barn. When Ma emerged, Pa and Daniel took their turns —

  “Ger-race?” Sequoyah’s voice brought her back to the present.

  No Ma. No Pa. No . . . Grace turned away and splashed water on her face to stop the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

  “Yes, I’m coming,” Grace choked out. She pulled herself out of the water and staggered up the bank.

  With Sequoyah’s help, Grace donned the dry clothes. Sequoyah rolled and tied up one blouse sleeve so the buckskin wouldn’t rub against Grace’s infected arm. With Grace’s old, sopping-wet clothes in one hand, Sequoyah used her other hand to help Grace up the bank. “Now we will help you build a kuugh’a.”

  Grace explained that it might not be worth the trouble as she wouldn’t be there long, but Sequoyah brushed aside her protests. “You cannot go soon. Your horse must heal. And so must you.”

  Too tired to argue, Grace followed Sequoyah to the spot the women had chosen for her home. Bathing and walking back from the stream had sapped Grace’s energy, and she sank to the ground as soon as they arrived.

  Several women rushed over and began cutting saplings. They tied them together quickly to form the dome shape of the kuugh’a.

  “Ask them to wait until I can help,” Grace said to Sequoyah.

  But Sequoyah only shook her head. “You are ill. This time you watch. Next time you help.”

  After a short while, a matting of dried grasses covered the frame. One of the women dug a hole in the center of the floor, while others spread that dirt around the lower edges of the kuugh’a.

  At Grace’s questioning glance, Sequoyah explained. “The hole is for your fire. The dirt, it keeps —” She held her hands in the air and wriggled her finger downward.

  “Rain?” Grace asked.

  “Yes, rain.” Sequoyah smiled. “It will keep the rain out. You stay nice and dry.”

  Grace memorized every step of the construction. She wouldn’t stay long, but she was determined to help if anyone else needed to build another kuugh’a while she was there. And she had another reason for paying such close attention — she wouldn’t have buffalo skin to throw over the top of the shelter the way the women had done here, but she would do well to know how to build herself a shelter while she was tracking down the Guiltless Gang.

  She was lost in her thoughts, barely hearing Sequoyah’s explanation of why doorways faced east and how the Ndeh tied their belongings to the dogs, moving camp often so they could stay near the best sources of food.

  One woman gathered wood, piled it in the hole in the center of the kuugh’a, and lit the fire. Others stacked more wood and dried brush near the opening, where they hung a deerskin as a makeshift doorway.

  In a short while, the kuugh’a was complete. Grace asked Sequoyah to thank everyone for her. Sequoyah broke into another series of sounds and tones that sounded strange, but musical, to Grace’s ears. The women smiled shyly at her, said a few words to Sequoyah, and then returned to their own homes.

  Sequoyah turned to Grace. “They said they hope you are happy here and that you will stay with us. You are now a part of our family.”

  Grace looked away, choking up. Sequoyah’s words touched the lonely part of her, deep inside. But Grace had her own family to think about. And she had a mission to fulfill.

  CHAPTER 10

  When Joe came to get Grace a little while later, his eyebrows rose at the sight of her buckskin top and skirt.

  “You look . . . different,” he said.

  Grace chuckled at his expression. “I look clean.”

  “Uh, Sequoyah sent me to get you,” Joe said. “Everyone is ready to eat. Come join us.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve taken too much from the Ndeh already.”

  “Grace, you need to eat. It will help keep up your strength.”

  “I do not want everyone staring at me.”

  “It’s just because you’re a novelty with your hair.” The way his eyes traveled over its now-shining ripples gave Grace the impression it attracted him as well. “And your skin is so soft and white.”

  Now she was even more embarrassed. She shook her head again, but Joe was having none of it.

  “It’s rude to decline an invitation to eat. You will offend those who have been kind to you.”

  She couldn’t do that. Reluctantly, she followed Joe from her new kuugh’a to where everyone was assembled. The scent of roasting meat wafted from the fire, and Grace inhaled it deeply. After
so many days of being ill, her stomach longed for a taste, and the flatbread that many of the children were nibbling looked delicious.

  “Come.” Joe led her over to Sequoyah’s side.

  The girl smiled and gestured for Grace to help herself. In addition to the meat and bread, painted gourds and pottery bowls were heaped with chokecherries and wild plums. Everything looked delicious.

  The younger children stopped eating and stared at Grace. Self-conscious, she smoothed down her hair and waited until they all got absorbed in eating again before she tasted the foods on the table.

  She wasn’t well or strong enough to eat much, but she appreciated every bite.

  As she ate, she leaned closer to Sequoyah. “Thank you so much for the clothes.”

  “You look pretty,” Sequoyah said. “Joe likes them, I think.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Sequoyah’s teasing grin indicated that she didn’t believe her.

  A few minutes later, Joe came over and sat beside Grace, helping to translate the conversation around the table. Every time he leaned close to talk to her, a young man with a badly scarred chest scowled at him.

  Grace elbowed Joe. “That man over there seems angry with you.”

  “Mmhmm.” Joe kept his voice low. “That’s Tarak. Cheis adopted him soon after he adopted me, so we’re blood brothers. I think he’s upset because I said that I plan to train you to be a warrior.”

  A warrior? Was that how Joe saw her? Grace smiled and sat up straighter, trying to look more warrior-like. “I’m sorry I’ve caused trouble between you and your brother. But I do want to learn the Ndeh ways, and if you’re really willing to teach me, that would be much appreciated.”

  “Well, that’s not the only thing that’s upsetting him.” He frowned, tore off a chunk of the flat round bread he called chigustei, and dipped it into his soup.

  But before Grace could get up the courage to ask him what he meant, the meal ended.

  After they had finished eating, the men gathered in a circle with a long pipe Joe called a calumet. A peace pipe. Feathers dangled from it along with tufts of horsehair and animal fur.

  Joe gestured toward the man holding the pipe. “That’s Cheis, Sequoyah’s father.”

  Grace stared at the imposing figure, who sat so still he could have been carved from wood. “Is he the chief?”

  “The Ndeh don’t really have chiefs. They believe each man should decide for himself what is right. The men meet and make decisions together, and when they do, they often look to the wisest man for counsel. In this band, that’s Cheis.” Joe stood. “If you plan to be a warrior, why don’t you join us in smoking the pipe?”

  None of the other women had joined the group, so Grace shook her head, but once Joe joined the men, he patted the ground beside him and beckoned to her. She was about to refuse when she caught sight of Tarak glaring at her. She would show him. If she planned to be a warrior, she would act like a warrior, whether that angry young man liked it or not. Pushing herself unsteadily to her feet, she walked over and sat beside Joe. She couldn’t sit cross-legged in her skirt, so she tucked her legs under her.

  Cheis closed his eyes and murmured prayers while Joe whispered the words to Grace. After sprinkling some tobacco to the east, Cheis repeated it in each of the other three directions.

  “The Four Directions are sacred,” Joe whispered. “Next, he will offer tobacco to Mother Earth and Father Sky.”

  Cheis patted the ground and set some tobacco by his feet, then lifted his hands skyward and tossed some tobacco overhead. When the prayers ended, Cheis held his hand open until the last bits of tobacco floated away on the wind.

  Then he sat in the circle with the others. He raised one eyebrow in surprise when he caught sight of Grace, but he quickly composed his features. “Ah. We welcome the newcomer to our tribe.”

  Tarak’s eyes blazed with anger. His fury could have lit the pipe, but his adopted father did the honors. Cheis passed the pipe to the man next to him, and Grace watched carefully to see what the others did. They sucked lightly at the pipe, then blew out a bit of smoke. She relaxed a little. It looked easy enough.

  The pipe reached Joe, who did what the others had done.

  When Joe handed it to Grace, Cheis spoke again in halting English: “It makes no difference as to the name of your God . . . because love is the real God of all the world. Even your silence . . . holds a prayer.”

  Grace smiled her thanks, unsure what to say in response. Although she had all but denounced God, she appreciated Cheis’s words and the fact that he was accepting her.

  “He is extending the tribe’s peace and protection to you,” Joe whispered.

  Grace took the long carved stick with the stone bowl. Smoke rose from the end, and she sucked on the pipe the way she’d seen the others do. Smoke filled her lungs, burning her nostrils and mouth, and she choked, coughing and spluttering and trying to draw in a breath. Tears stung her eyes, and Joe patted her back.

  “You all right? You aren’t supposed to inhale the smoke into your lungs, just hold it in your mouth,” he whispered.

  The man next to her took the pipe from her but did not smoke it. Instead he joined Joe in making sure Grace was all right.

  Everyone sat solemnly, waiting until she recovered. All except one person. Tarak clutched his belly and laughed silently.

  Even after the pipe began making its rounds again, Tarak continued to gaze at Grace and snicker, but Cheis gave him a stern look, and he sobered. But when Cheis’s attention focused elsewhere, Tarak smirked at Grace once more.

  As soon as the ceremony ended and the musicians gathered for dancing, Grace could finally get away without seeming rude.

  She fled to her kuugh’a, cringing that she’d made a fool of herself again and likely shamed Joe in the process. She wished she could mount Bullet and gallop away from the camp. Never have to face anyone again. Oh, Bullet, hurry and get well.

  The drum pounded out a beat, and soon feet slapping on the earth accompanied the musicians. No one would miss her now. Grace lay on her reed bed and stared up at the smoke hole, watching the sky turn gray, then blue, then indigo.

  In the doorway, someone cleared his throat. Grace jumped.

  “May I come in?”

  Joe. Grace’s heart raced faster than the drumbeats that shook the earth. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “I came to get you. You don’t want to miss your first dance.”

  Oh, yes, I do. Grace was sure of that. She’d had enough humiliation for one night. And she didn’t need to see Tarak’s smirks. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

  “But you’ll enjoy it. The storytelling is fascinating — I promise to translate. Why don’t we just sit somewhere on the edge of the crowd?” He suppressed a smile. “They’ve put the calumet away . . .”

  Grace crossed her arms. “Did you do that on purpose to embarrass me?”

  Joe’s face fell. “I wouldn’t do that! But you have to admit, you did look pretty funny.”

  The twinkle in his eye made Grace smile. “I guess so.” But she couldn’t help adding ruefully, “I bet no one’s ever done that before.”

  “Someone must have in all the years they’ve been doing the calumet ceremony. If not, you may become part of their stories.” He grinned and reached for her hand. “Come listen to them.”

  When his fingers touched hers, a tingle ran up her arm. Grace pulled her hand away a little too quickly, and a frown creased Joe’s brow. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot about your palms.” He reached out and cupped her upturned hand gently in his strong, callused one, inspecting it. “They look much better. That salve Cheveyo put on worked well. When I brought you here, they were blistered and raw.” His voice held a note of tenderness. “You were very brave to fight through the fire like that.”

  The look of admiration he gave her set her ch
eeks aflame, and she lowered her eyes, confused. The tenderness of Joe’s touch had her so mixed up; she wanted to cry and smile at the same time.

  “I wish — I wish I had stayed around when my pa . . .” His voice broke. “I never even knew where they were buried.” He shook his head as if to dislodge the memories. “Let’s go and dance.”

  Grace’s breath had gotten stuck somewhere inside her chest, making her lungs ache. Her words came out whispery. “I don’t know how.”

  “It’s easy.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the doorway. “Look. The women shuffle one way. The men the other.” He moved into the shadow of some overhanging trees. “We can try it here where no one can see you.”

  After a few false starts, Grace picked up the rhythm of the drum and the slapping of bare feet.

  Stomp, stomp, stomp. Jingle. Repeat.

  She almost laughed.

  He smiled back. “Want to join them?”

  Grace glanced at the dancers and spotted Sequoyah eyeing one of the musicians.

  “We could slip in beside her,” Joe said, following Grace’s gaze.

  “All right.” Grace let him lead her toward the crowd.

  Just before they reached the dancers, Cheis stepped out of the line. He walked over and laid a hand on Sequoyah’s head, then leaned down to whisper something in his daughter’s ear, his smile tender. The way Pa used to look at me, Grace thought. The way he’ll never look at me again.

  An ache built in her chest. She couldn’t bear to watch but couldn’t tear her gaze away. Her eyes stung, misting the images of father and daughter. She couldn’t cry, not here, not now. Not in front of everyone.

  Grace yanked her hand from Joe’s. She turned and ran, her lungs burning, her weakened muscles protesting hard. She stumbled, and her legs almost gave out, but she kept going until she reached the pasture.