At the longhouse, he entered silently through the door, leaving the skin cover to flap back and forth and announce his return. His apartment looked very welcoming.
Several clamshell lamps threw their soft light gently around the room. These lamps, large white clamshell halves filled with dogfish oil, had twisted cedar bark wicks in their centers. They were lit in every house as soon as dark descended which at this time of year, summer, was well into the evening.
A cozy scene greeted his eyes. Precious Copper and several of her attendant women sat around the small fire crackling in the center of the room, the jumping flames casting a warm glow on all within. The women were chatting and gossiping quietly as they wove cedar strips into matting and clothing. Seeing Fighting Wolf enter, one of the women murmured in a low voice to her companions. The other women giggled, peeking at the war chief shyly.
Fighting Wolf’s eyes narrowed as he searched for Sarita among the women. She was not there. Unwilling to ask her whereabouts of Precious Copper in front of her curious friends, he strode over to his sleeping area and lay down, thinking to get up and find Sarita shortly after the nosy women left.
He awoke much later in the night when all was silent about him. Small red coals glowed in the fire pit; the clamshell lamps had burned out. The women had retired to their respective beds, as had Precious Copper. The large room was dark and only the occasional cough from one of the families sleeping far down the house filtered through to his alert ears.
Shoving the sea otter fur bedcovers to one side, Fighting Wolf rose quickly. One thought dominated him: to find Sarita. Picking up a clamshell lamp, he glanced quickly around the large room until his eye caught the small alcove in the far corner. Guessing she was there, he padded over and looked inside. Indeed, there lay Sarita, asleep on the wooden plank bed. Sea otter skins covered her and the trade blanket cloak was drawn tightly up to her chin. He lifted the lamp and gazed down at her. Her face in repose looked so young, a momentary twinge of pity washed over him at the predicament he had placed her in. His harsh face softened as he surveyed her sleeping form.
Placing the lamp carefully on the floor, he kneeled down beside her, still studying the sleeping woman, but now reverently. Reaching out one large hand, he captured a wayward curl that fell across her jaw. He brought the silky softness to his lips and held it there a moment, then brushed it gently back from her face. He reached out one strong arm and placed it carefully across, but not touching, her body. He wanted so much to hold her, but knew should she awake she’d cry out. She continued to lie there, breathing rhythmically in sleep.
Bending quietly over her, he inhaled the warm woman smell of her, perfumed with some floral scent. Breathing deeply he touched his lips against her cheek first, a touch as soft as swan's down. Then he brushed his lips against hers ever so lightly. Her lips felt smooth and warm and he found himself lost in her gentle softness. Seeing that she continued to breathe evenly, he caressed another stray lock of hair gently back from her cheek before he slowly stood to his full height. He towered over the unknowing woman, reluctant now in this new mood of tenderness to wake her. Still savoring the last kiss, he turned away quietly and stole back to his bed.
In the dark alcove, beautiful golden eyes stared out into the darkness, a new knowledge dawning. It was a long time before sleep gently claimed them once again.
* * * *
The high-pitched tweeting of robins awoke Fighting Wolf from his sleep. Yawning and stretching several times, he was finally fully awake. He cursed aloud as he remembered a gentle kiss, a soft caress in the dark of the night. In the bright light of day it seemed but a dream.
He knew now he had to have Sarita, to possess her fully in the one way a man can truly possess a woman. One kiss would not suffice. He would not rest until his body had tasted hers. Today, he thought in satisfaction, he would find out more about this desirable woman. Soon he would know all there was to know about Sarita, he chuckled to himself.
Fate, however, had other plans. When he was only halfway through a breakfast of smoked clams, word was brought that several war canoes had been sighted skulking around Ahousat waters. It appeared the Ucluelets, a belligerent tribe to the south, were scouting out new fishing grounds and encroaching on Ahousat domain.
Precious Copper hastily packed dried fish and water-filled seal bladders for Fighting Wolf to take with him as he quickly dispatched the remainder of his meal. While he ate, his men hustled to arm themselves and prepare the war canoes.
“Those Ucluelets have infringed on Ahousat territory far too often lately. This time we’ll show them a good fight!” exclaimed Fighting Wolf.
“Do be careful,” cautioned Precious Copper.
Adrenaline pumping, Fighting Wolf raced for the door. Over his shoulder he called, “I’ll be gone for as long as it takes to drive those cowardly Ucluelets back to their pitiful village!”
* * * *
Sarita awoke late in the morning. She felt greatly refreshed and stretched languorously. Rising from the bed, she cast the sea otter blankets to one side, but still clutched her trade blanket close to her chest. She shivered slightly in the cool morning air.
Suddenly thoughts of Fighting Wolf’s late night visit flooded over her. Holding her hands to her face, she felt her cheeks flush at the memory of his lips on hers. A tingle shivered up and down her spine as she remembered his gentle caresses. Then she got a grip on herself. The man was a barbarian! He had viciously tricked her father and stolen her away. She would not indulge in daydreams over him, not at all! Still, her step was light and she went about humming cheerfully to herself all morning.
Precious Copper was impressed with the new captive’s good spirits. She had feared the girl would be moping about at first. Seeing Sarita in a cheerful humor caused Precious Copper to respond in like manner and the two young women got on very well that day. Precious Copper hoped it was a sign that the captive would adjust well to her new fate.
Sarita’s good mood gradually wore off through the morning and by mid-afternoon she was beginning to feel apprehensive as to what the future held. She was finally able to shrug off her fears, however, resolving that she had only to cope with the Ahousats until she could make her escape. Equanimity restored, she concentrated on helping Precious Copper do the household chores.
She noticed Precious Copper treated her rather as an equal, more like a visiting kinswoman of equal rank than as a slave, and admired the small woman’s quiet tact. Sarita was not sure she would treat a captive as well, even under the odd circumstances of being almost a sister-in-law.
It was late afternoon when Sarita chanced to overhear a discussion between one of Precious Copper’s middle-aged attendants, Oyster Woman, and a lantern-jawed young woman, an attendant whose name Sarita did not know yet.
Sarita was careful not to appear to be eaves-dropping. “Are you expecting your husband back soon?” asked the lantern-jawed young woman.
The older woman shrugged. “Who knows?” she answered philosophically. “You know how long these expeditions can take. My husband’s a warrior. He just does what they tell him. They left this morning and will probably chase those Ucluelets for several days at least. Seems they’re always running off to fight someone,” she grumbled. “And my old husband has a bad shoulder—“
“Yes, that is too bad,” commiserated the younger woman. “I think, though, that Fighting Wolf wants to hurry home with his men as soon as he can.” Here Sarita was startled to note the younger woman glance slyly in her direction. Feeling her face grow hot, Sarita turned away and pretended to be very busy with her weaving.
So Fighting Wolf would be away for a while, she thought with relief and just a small stab of regret which she hastily ignored. Good. That gave her some time to make her plans.
Her chance to plan her escape came the very next afternoon. Precious Copper asked Sarita to take two small cousins down to the beach to hunt for rock crabs. The two, a girl and a boy of about seven and ten summers respectively, were liv
ely children. The girl was very active, running and jumping and teasing the boy who tried his best to ignore her antics with as much dignity as he could muster. Her treated Sarita with casual disdain at first, trying to be manly, but soon forgot himself under the continual assaults of the taunting girl. Finally he lost control and aimed a punch at his younger cousin. Sarita stepped between the two, and the child’s blows glanced off her forearms. She winced in pain, but quickly recovered.
“Young men who are going to be chiefs someday do not hit girls,” she said sternly.
“How would you know?” retorted the boy, somewhat taken aback at her interference. “You’re nothing but a slave!” he exclaimed, repeating gossip he had heard in the longhouse.
Sarita took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I know,” she said as calmly as she could, “because I am the daughter of a chief. My father taught my brother, who will be chief after him, not to hit girls and women but to respect them. That’s the way a wise chief behaves,” she stated firmly.
The boy, embarrassed, looked down at his feet as he kicked the sand. “She started it!” he cried. Seeing that Sarita remained unimpressed with this age-old argument, he tried again, “Well, she did!”
Keeping her face serious, Sarita admonished, “Nevertheless, as a future chief, you must learn to ignore the picky little things people will do to you and concentrate your attention on correcting the important things. A chief would not let a small girl’s teasing bother him. He certainly would not hit her. Her would speak calmly to her and tell her to go away and play somewhere else.”
The little girl, meanwhile, was hopping about and sticking her tongue out at her cousin when she thought Sarita wasn’t looking. Sarita, however, had words for her, too. “Duck Feather,” she said to the girl, “a noble girl does not behave so rudely. Is this what your mother has taught you? She will be shamed by such a daughter if you continue to tease your cousin and then laugh when he gets into trouble. A true noblewoman likes to play, of course, but not to hurt others by her actions.”
Sarita thought perhaps she was being heavy-handed, but she would not let these children run roughshod over her. Besides, she remembered many lectures from her childhood and knew this was how high-ranking parents disciplined their children.
Somewhat subdued, the children made their way to the beach, following peacefully at her side. Seeing their friends hunting for crabs down near the waterline, they asked for, and received, her permission to run over and play there. Sarita sat down on a log nearby, content to watch them and contemplate her future.
There Rottenwood found her, on his way to repair a nearby canoe that lay a short distance away from where Sarita was sitting.
Bending over ostensibly to locate the small hole in the boat, he nodded politely to Sarita. She recognized him as the captured slave from her home village.
Seeing her return his nod, he quietly asked her, “Are they treating you well, mistress?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I’m very fortunate. Precious Copper, sister of the war chief that abducted me, has taken me under her protection and I’m living in her quarters. What about you?”
“No complaints,” he shrugged. “I live in the slave quarters of that longhouse over there.” He pointed to one of the houses. “I get enough to eat; they don’t work me too hard... " He let the sentence trail off.
“Don’t you get tired of being a slave?” Sarita asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but I certainly don’t like being at another’s beck and call.”
“Hah, you’ve only been a slave for a few days. Wait. It gets worse. Some nights you lie awake cursing your fate and you know you’d give the rest of your life to taste just one day of freedom!” he said bitterly.
“Oh?” said Sarita cautiously. “Do you wish for your freedom?” Seeing a frown cross his face at her careless words, she said hastily, “Of course you do. How silly of me.” She added dejectedly, “I, too, long for my freedom.”
Rottenwood’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Realizing that the next move was up to her, Sarita began tentatively, “Do you think it’s possible to escape from here?”
Looking around cautiously to make sure no one was watching or listening to them, Rottenwood answered slowly, “Might be.” He paused for effect. “It depends—“
“Depends on what?” she asked eagerly.
“It depends on how desperately you want to get away. Slaves are killed for escaping, if they’re recaptured, you know.”
“Better to die in the attempt, than live as a slave,” she responded bitterly.
He had to admire her courage. Maybe, just maybe, he could use her in an escape attempt. Realizing that someone might come along at any moment, he said quickly, “Are you serious about escaping?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Very serious,” she answered firmly.
“Then maybe we can help each other. I too, want to escape this place. If we work together, we are more likely to succeed.”
“What can I do to help?” she asked eagerly. “I just want to get away from here and back to my people as soon as possible.”
“It may take some time,” he replied. “I have to get hold of a seaworthy canoe first. We’ll need provisions, food, paddles, rain gear if it’s rainy season, things like that.”
“I can help with saving and storing food,” she answered hopefully. “I can easily get dried fish and smoked meats, too. I’m also a good paddler,” she added for effect, hoping to convince him that she would indeed be useful. “Not only that,” she said cagily, “but I will listen in on conversations and find out when the warriors will be away from the village.”
He looked at her for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face, giving him a boyish look. “You may do after all,” he teased.
“Of course I’ll do,” she said scathingly. “You just get the canoe!”
He chuckled, then became serious. “And what’s in it for me? Why should I help you escape? You need my navigation, my paddling ability, my canoe, more than I need your help.” He watched her closely.
She flushed, wondering what he was getting at. She remained silent.
Seeing that he could not prod an answer from her, he said carefully, “Don’t you wonder why I, a slave, should want to go back to your village, to certain slavery there?”
Now that he mentioned it, it did seem odd, she thought. What was he getting at? Then she remembered Spring Fern had mentioned this man. “Spring Fern,” she guessed shrewdly. “You want to go back because of Spring Fern.”
A flash of annoyance crossed his face for a moment, but he did not deny her answer. He pressed on, “Should our escape prove successful—and it will if you follow my instructions completely—I would ask for a certain reward upon returning to Hesquiat village.”
“What is that?” she asked smugly, knowing he would ask for Spring Fern.
“My freedom,” he answered curtly, watching her face.
Astonished, Sarita merely stared for a moment. She had misjudged the man. Then she answered slowly, “If we get to my village successfully, I give you my word as the daughter of Thunder Maker, chief of the Hesquiats, that you will have your freedom. I promise you this on my honor and my life.”
Realizing there was little he could do if she chose to go back on her word, he nodded. “Very well,” he answered, “let’s meet again.” He pointed to a landmark. “See that big rock further down the beach?” At her nod he continued, “When the moon is full, and is rising over that large tree,” pointing again, “come to the rock and we’ll discuss our plans further. For now, it is enough that you hide food away and listen for any news.”
Sarita did not like him ordering her about, but decided to say nothing. She needed his help too much.
Seeing her quiet nod again, he stood up, “I’ll leave now. It’s best if we’re not seen together. People will get suspicious.”
Agreeing with the wisdom of his remark, Sarita answered quietly, “Yes. And thank you for your help, Rott
enwood. If we get out of this alive, I will abide by my promise to you.”
He smiled briefly and went off, wondering if she truly would keep her promise.
Chapter Seven
The days passed quickly. Sarita helped Precious Copper with household tasks. It was fortunate, though perhaps Sarita had not quite appreciated it at the time, that Crab Woman had insisted that she learn to do all household tasks. Many noblewomen did not know how to do housekeeping chores, always depending on their slaves. Had that been the case for Sarita, she would have had a very difficult adjustment to her new status, as the household tasks she was expected to do were not light work.
In addition to working in the longhouse, she was expected to go into the forest with the other slave and commoner women. There they would dig up roots and bulbs for the evening meal. There were fern roots to be dug, the odoriferous skunk cabbage roots, and clover roots. People considered all these roots delicious.
Sometimes they also dug up the long spindly spruce roots to be used not for food, but for weaving.
Occasionally, a few men would accompany the women into the forest and carry back long strips of yellow cedar bark that the women peeled off the tall trees. Later, these strips of bark would have to be carried down to the beach or to a quiet cove and weighted down with large stones. The bark would soak in the salt water for several days before being dried and separated into feathery strands for weaving. She was involved in every stage of this textile production, from gathering the bark to weaving it.
Then there were berries to gather. Several varieties ripened through the long summer; the juicy, orange salmonberries, the red seedy thimbleberries, the plump pink huckleberries and blueberries, and the delicious blackberries. Tasty berries were the only sweets in the Nootka diet.
The only berries kept year-round were black salal berries. To preserve this favorite, salal berries were parboiled in wooden boxes, then poured into other long wooden frames. These were dried over a fire and finally sun-dried. The berry cakes were then stored away for winter.
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