Elizabeth rose, stretched, then drew her buckskin dress over her head. “Why is that?” she asked, pulling the dress down her slender body, enjoying Strong Heart’s look of admiration as he gazed at her.
Strong Heart admired her a moment longer, feeling the flicker of heat in his loins that Elizabeth’s loveliness always sparked. Then he looked away from her and knelt on one knee beside the glowing embers of the coals in his firepit. “The salmon chief, Smiling Wolf, is the one who gives the signal for the beginning of fishing each season. No one dares approach the river to fish, unless he has given them permission.”
He took a short stick and stirred the coals among the ashes. He scattered some wood shavings into the small, glowing embers. As they burst into flames, he placed more twigs on until the fire had grown enough for a larger piece of wood, which he quickly laid across it.
Elizabeth picked up her hairbrush and began brushing her hair in long, even strokes. “I have never heard of a salmon chief before,” she murmured.
“The Suquamish salmon chief is a leader separate from the tribal chief,” Strong Heart said, going to the door when he heard a faint knock. He said thank you to Many Stars when she handed him a huge, steaming pot of clam soup, then took it and hung it over the fire.
He turned to Elizabeth as she sat down beside him, handing him a wooden bowl and spoon, keeping one for herself. “Smiling Wolf is a shaman, a religious man,” he explained further. “He is believed to have ‘salmon power,’ the ability to make the salmon reappear on schedule each year.”
Elizabeth dipped soup into both of their bowls. She was always glad to learn more of his customs, knowing that was her true way of being totally accepted in his community.
Strong Heart gazed warmly at Elizabeth as she began sipping soup from her spoon. “Ah-hah, soon the gifts of the sea will bring prosperity to the tribe for one more long winter of cold moons,” he said, then began eating too, thinking that finally everything was as it should be in his life, and especially his la-daila’s!
He would not allow himself to think of all of the ways that this could change, just in the blink of an eye. This was now, and in his heart, now was forever.
* * *
Later, when Elizabeth was comfortably asleep on the sleeping platform, a rug drawn snugly to her chin, Strong Heart placed a cloak around his shoulders. Lifting a heavy buckskin bag and slinging it across his shoulder, he took a long, lingering look at Elizabeth, then turned and left the longhouse.
The moon was only occasionally visible through the foliage overhead. Strong Heart ran through the forest, knowing where he must go to assure a bountiful harvest of salmon. This year it was more important than any other, because his people had already lost too much.
He would go to the medicine rock and honor it with tokens of worship. The medicine rock had the power to grant a wish to those who visited it. With their wishes they sought to bring back their health, or to heal a broken heart. Strong Heart sought to quicken the run of the salmon.
When Strong Heart reached farther along the banks of the Duwamish River, far from where his village slept silently during this midnight hour, he proceeded carefully up a steep embankment above the river. His gaze locked on the face of a brown, curving rock, and a tree that grew straight out of the rock. He could already see that others had come to honor the rock’s powers, because many gifts hung from the bare limbs of the tree, like offerings placed upon the altar of a church.
Strong Heart moved carefully onward. The rock was exceedingly hard to reach. This was deliberate because a white man had destroyed one of the earlier altars of his people, and had taken the wampum and beadwork for himself. This special location of the rock was to discourage those who would easily avail themselves of the offerings of the people of his tribe.
After finally reaching the rock, he gazed in wonder at the preponderance of gifts. Hardly a space remained for Strong Heart’s own offering. A broad smile touched his lips and he now knew that all would be blessed this season of the salmon run. It seemed that every able person of his village had come to the rock with their wishes.
Strong Heart knelt and placed the bag on the rock at the base of the tree and smiled heavenward.
Chapter 29
When did morning ever break
And find such beaming eyes awake
As those that sparkle here!
—THOMAS MOORE
The drums had throbbed and the chants had echoed to the heavens all night. It was now dawn on the river and the drums and chants had ceased. Elizabeth sat before the campfire, warming her hands as the sun rose slowly in the sky. She gazed around her at the faces of the Suquamish people as the women cooked over the hot coals of the fires, the braves scurried about preparing their methods of catching the salmon, and the children romped and played, their excitement evident in their eyes.
Two days ago they had arrived where the big river roared and foamed as it squeezed through the nearby canyon. They now waited for the Suquamish’s most important event of the year, the time when salmon fought their way upstream through the canyon to reach their spawning riffles.
The sun now deliciously warming the air, Elizabeth turned from the fire and gazed at Strong Heart as he joined the others. He was sharpening the tip of a lightweight, short harpoon for throwing at the salmon.
Her gaze shifted, seeing some of the men making dip nets to scoop the salmon out of the river. They would stand on temporary dams that were built each year to trap the salmon and either use their nets or spears to catch the fish.
Elizabeth noticed that today, even though it was late autumn, Strong Heart and his braves wore only breechcloths and sported arm and leg bands twisted and woven of shredded bark.
Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn elsewhere, as a heron with slow, flapping wings rose from one place along the shadowy banks of the river, skimming a few yards to settle again.
Farther up the river, a family of three black bears on a fishing expedition paused to look at the Suquamish intruders. They then ambled farther up the river, stopping again to wade into the water that was already teeming with hordes of silvery salmon. Soon they were feasting on their prime catches.
A movement overhead made Elizabeth look up. A red-tailed hawk soared, then landed on an old snag and surveyed his hunting territory, alert for a midmorning snack. Blue jays scolded from the riverbank trees. A kingfisher was a flashing arrow as he hustled upstream on some busy errand.
The hubbub around Elizabeth stilled. She turned wondering eyes to see why. She was filled with awe as the salmon chief made an appearance, walking slowly toward the riverbank. His long robe flowed around his legs, his gray hair dragged the ground behind him. The many winters of his age had bent him like an old tree.
Strong Heart’s father followed, limping as Pretty Nose supported him by holding on to his elbow. Strong Heart joined them, their eyes on the salmon chief.
Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet and stood with the other women, behind the men and Pretty Nose. Many Stars moved silently to stand beside Elizabeth. They exchanged quick smiles, then Elizabeth became absorbed in the same ritual that she had now seen twice since their arrival at the swift waters of the canyon. Each day, she and the Suquamish had watched the salmon chief as he walked down to his special vantage point above the river. He had spent the other days motionless, staring at the fish passing upstream. Each time he had announced that the salmon were moving in the river, crowding into the quiet waters. He had said that more and more fish were passing upstream, and soon the harvest would begin.
Today Elizabeth felt the building anticipation of the Suquamish, hoping that today would be the day. Even now she could see the splashes of hundreds of salmon fins.
Many Stars clasped one of Elizabeth’s hands and squeezed it affectionately as they awaited a response from the salmon chief.
Strong Heart had explained much of this ritual to her on their way to the canyon. He had said that his people assumed that as the salmon chief stood peering down into the r
iver, the old man was talking to the fish, wishing them a safe journey, and thanking them for appearing in the river again. The people believed that he possessed salmon power, a special relationship with the fish.
Hadn’t the salmon chief, as a young man, been selected by the salmon themselves?
Hadn’t he, like his predecessors, struck a bargain with the salmon that they would crowd into the river at this time of the year?
And, at this special place, they would show themselves so that the people could harvest them.
The people knew that part of the bargain between the salmon and the old chief was that the fish would not be disturbed until many had swum on to the upper river, to provide food for other tribes at less favorable fishing stations.
This was true, but the old chief also knew—perhaps the salmon had told him—that fish must be allowed to escape farther upstream to spawn, to ensure that the runs would continue in future years.
Finally, after days of watching the river and meditating, Chief Smiling Wolf turned to face his people, to make the eagerly awaited announcement. “My people, the first salmon can be taken today!” he shouted, his old eyes gleaming.
There was an uproar of celebration reaching to the sky. Then there was silence again as Smiling Wolf turned to face the river, and in a low monotone, thanked the salmon for appearing again and allowing themselves to be taken, so that the Suquamish could live.
Then Chief Smiling Wolf moved aside, mingling with the watchers as everyone pushed forward to stand at the riverbank.
Elizabeth and Many Stars rushed to find an open space among those who were crowding together, their eager eyes watching something. After squeezing into the crowd, Elizabeth gasped with fear as she watched Strong Heart, one of the tribe’s better fishermen, descend a wet, slippery cliff to a niche in the rock just above where the water cascaded through a chute in the canyon. She watched as one other brave followed, handing Strong Heart a spear. A line attached to the spear was piled neatly in front of Strong Heart’s feet, where it could run out rapidly. The other end was tied to a stake that the brave drove into a crack in the rock.
Elizabeth placed a hand over her mouth to stifle another gasp. She had not known that Strong Heart was going to be doing this, or how dangerous and difficult spearing fish in the torrent was. Should he slip and fall into the churning waters or against the rocks below, he would not have hardly any chance of surviving. She now understood why he had not shared this part of the ceremony with her.
She breathed much easier when another brave handed a rope to the one who was standing just behind Strong Heart. She thought that this rope was to be tied around Strong Heart, in case he did lose his balance.
But, no! she groaned to herself. Strong Heart shook his head, refusing to use the lifeline. He was the chosen spearsman today. He stood intently watching the movement of the fish below him, his arm cocked.
Elizabeth took some relief that the brave who stood close behind him kept a watchful eye on Strong Heart, ready to use the safety rope in case he fell into the torrent.
Elizabeth glanced down at Many Stars as she edged closer.
“Strong Heart does not wear the safety rope on this special occasion today because he fears that the salmon might be offended if he appears too cautious,” Many Stars whispered, smiling up at Elizabeth. “And do not fear. Strong Heart has been the lead fisherman for many years. He has not yet fallen into the waters.”
Elizabeth weakly returned her smile, trying to take some reassurance from what she had told her.
Then she turned her eyes back to Strong Heart, and her heart did a great leap when suddenly his arm sprang forward, the spear flying to a fish struggling at the base of the canyon.
Everyone cheered when the spear went through the thick body of the salmon, just in back of the head. And as it flipped and flopped in the water, Strong Heart grabbed the line and quickly brought it in—the first catch of the salmon harvest.
One quick thump with a wooden club and the fish lay still on the rocks. Strong Heart removed the spear, and climbing away from the river, went to Smiling Wolf and lay the salmon at the feet of the chief.
The old man knelt on one knee and meditated a moment over the fish, then with a gesture signaled a woman to come to him.
Elizabeth watched as the woman picked up the fish and carried it to a place of scoured rock beside the river. The rock was pitted with kettle-sized depressions, a result of glaciers and floods in the distant past.
The woman proceeded to clean the fish with the traditional tools—short bone shafts edged with razor-sharp rock chips set in slots. As each one dulled, they were discarded and other blades were fitted in the slots.
“This form of tool that Brown Susan is using is as old as the beginnings of our people,” Many Stars whispered, leaning closer to Elizabeth. “Our ancestors thousands of years before brought similar tools to the New World across a land bridge over the great sea.”
Elizabeth smiled at Many Stars, glad that she was able to participate in the rituals of the Suquamish.
For a moment her thoughts drifted to her father, wondering how he had reacted when he found the nets destroyed. She could not help but smile smugly at the thought. Yet she was sad at the same time, for her father was now lost to her forever.
And she would never experience the wonderful joy of seeing her mother and father reunited. It most surely would not happen now.
She belonged to Strong Heart now—not her troubled parents.
Pulling herself out of her sad thoughts, she looked toward several women who had been tending a fire while waiting for Strong Heart to spear the first salmon. The women began using sticks to pick up hot rocks from the fire and took them to one of the depressions in the rock, which had been filled with water, and threw the rocks into it.
Elizabeth saw that the rock kettle was about four feet wide and fairly deep. And when the water in it began to boil, the women put the salmon in it. After it was cooked, they removed it and began cutting it in small pieces, and distributed it, until everyone had had a taste of the first salmon.
Then the true harvest began.
Elizabeth was relieved when Strong Heart came down from the high rock. She smiled sheepishly at him as he turned her way, his eyes dancing, his face split with a wide grin.
Then she stood back with the other women as all of the men and boys joined in the harvest.
When the red rim of the sun slipped over the western horizon, and the shimmering afterglow faded into night’s darkness, the extent of the day’s catch was counted. Chief Smiling Wolf began supervising the distribution of the fish to the women, the shares based on family size.
Strong Heart came to Elizabeth, pride shining in his eyes. “Was it not a good day?” he boasted, slipping an elk-skin robe around his shoulders as the deep purple shadows of night brought with them the cooler temperatures of late autumn.
“A very good day,” Elizabeth murmured. “And so interesting. I loved every minute of it, Strong Heart. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of it.”
“Many moons ago, when the world was new, my ancestors discovered this fish which crowded into the rivers at the same time each year,” he said, wrapping an elk-skin robe around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Once our elders learned how to catch and preserve the salmon, my people learned Mother Earth had given us a gift beyond price. No longer would our children hunger in winter, or our old people go without food during the long, dark months. No longer would our warriors follow game across the land to keep our people fed. At last, our women could build and furnish permanent homes for their families.”
He swung an arm around Elizabeth’s waist and began walking her toward the river, where he soon found a quiet place for them to sit in privacy. He drew her lips close to his, their eyes twinkling into each other’s. “A reliable food supply always makes possible more children,” he said thickly. “My la-daila, soon we must discuss how large a family we will add to our people’s population.”
She thrilled
at the thought of bearing his children, and at the thought of their sons being the mirror image of their father.
She twined her arms around his neck and accepted his gentle, sweet kiss. Afterward, she was not surprised when he stretched out beside her and lay his head in her lap and fell asleep, exhausted from the long day of fishing.
As he lay there, sleeping soundly. Elizabeth contentedly stroked his dark hair, the pool of water before her blooming with stars.
Chapter 30
How delicious is the winning of a kiss!
—THOMAS CAMPBELL
Several days later the Suquamish were back at their village. This salmon harvest had been one of the largest in the history of Strong Heart’s people. As soon as they returned to the village, the women had begun digging huge pits in which to store the salmon. In the meanwhile, the fish was dried in the sun, then smoked to preserve its freshness. Once it was ready, the salmon was put in baskets, wrapped in cedar mats, then lowered into the pits, where it was covered with sticks to protect the haul from animals.
This year, the fishing had been so good, there was more than Strong Heart’s people would need to get through the winter. Word had gone out to other tribes, and some from the foothills of the Rocky Mountains had come to trade horses or buffalo skins for salmon.
With Strong Heart on one side of her, and Four Winds on the other, Elizabeth sat spellbound as she watched the male dancers. They celebrated the success of their salmon harvest, and welcomed the visitors who had come from far away to trade.
She had always loved the Fourth of July celebrations in San Francisco, with the fireworks bursting forth in the sky in various, blinding colors and shapes.
But tonight, as the moonlight flowed down from the sky with a white satiny sheen, she was more in awe of the dancers as they jumped and bounced in fast movements around the outdoor fire in time to the steady beats of the drums. The men wore clothing trimmed with tiny bells, which tinkled as they shook their blades of red obsidian.
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