by Gen Bailey
She fell into silence. At some length, she said, “You seem quite ardent about this, I think.”
“Should a man not be impassioned about his own soul, about his own freedom? ”
“Yes, yes, of course, it is only that in my society, I have considered that I am lucky to have the position I have. I am housed well, I am clothed. I have good food. Though I am not free, without this position, I little know how I would live.”
“You would be married to a man who loves you, and who would take care of you and your children. You would be happy. Your aunts, your uncles, your parents and all others of your clan would ensure your health, also. That is how you would live.” He stated it emphatically. “What of your parents? Your aunts? Your uncles? Where are they? Were they also servants to this evil man?”
She gasped, causing him to frown. And he said, “You seem startled that I am so frank, yet the practice of owning another human being is unnatural. Any man who would dare to try to own another man’s soul is committing one of the most wicked acts a man can accomplish. Even your own good book says so.”
“It is not that,” she replied. “I, too, believe the custom of slavery is sinful. Why I reacted is not due to that, but rather because I don’t remember who my parents are or what happened to them. I know nothing of aunts or uncles. And, sir, in English society, there is no clan to see to my protection.”
“Have the English then done away with the family, so there is no one to protect you? Without the family, one could fall easily victim to men with deceitful intentions—as it appears you have.”
“Of course the English haven’t done away with the family,” she said. “I gasped not because of what you were saying, but rather at the mention of my parents. Indeed, sir, simply bringing them up, I felt suddenly sad.”
His gaze narrowed. Her hands were sweating. Her eyes looked fearful. What had happened to this woman that a simple remark would cause her such anxiety?
However, he didn’t ask. Instead he said, “I am sorry that I have brought up a matter that brings you sadness. Perhaps in time, you will remember more.”
“Perhaps. But it is maddening. At first it seemed as if my memory returned in full, and yet I can’t recall anything about my own parents, nor under what circumstances I became indentured to this man. I even remember his name—the man who holds my papers—John Rathburn. But about my parents, I recollect nothing.”
Sitting forward, White Thunder took both of her hands into his, and as gently as he could put into words, he said, “It will come back to you. It will come.”
As she gazed at him, and as he stared deeply into the deep blue of her eyes, he thought he had never witnessed anyone quite so beautiful. Again, desire ravished him. Again, he cautioned himself to do nothing.
Ah, if only he were free to hold her. If only. . .
Ten
Sarah sat back on her heels and loosened her hands from White Thunder’s. She hadn’t expected his outburst concerning a person’s liberty or lack of it.
His reaction worried her, since she could not predict what his response would be to the request she must make. However, since her memory had returned, and since she had no option but to ask, she began as simply as she could. “Sir, there is a circumstance that I’ve remembered, and a favor I would beg of you.”
He nodded, as if to say, “Please continue.”
Warily, she began, “Recently, before my accident, I was engaged upon the task of accompanying a young woman who was in my charge. We were traveling through these woods on our way to New Hampshire. Obviously, I am now lost from her, sir, and if you would be so kind as to help me, I would like to find her and ensure her safety. Since I have recalled who I am and the obligations I hold, I find that I’m worried about what has become of this young woman to whom I owe my loyalty.”
White Thunder hesitated before he said, “Tell me more about this woman. Is this the same person you mentioned earlier? I believe you called her your mistress. And if so, is she one of the people who thinks she owns you? ”
“Oh, no,” Sarah said at once, “not at all. She’s a young woman who was put into my charge long ago. I’ve been her friend and companion for many, many years. It was her uncle who assigned me into servitude because . . .” Sarah stopped and rubbed her forehead again. “Pardon me, for I still cannot remember why I am indentured to this man; all I can recall is that I’ve five more years in his service. As for Marisa—”
“That’s her name? ”
“Yes. She is truly innocent of all her uncle’s doings, and she is more like a sister to me than a mere friend. She loves me and I love her.”
“Yet,” he countered, “if she is related by blood to the evil one . . .”
“No, no, she’s not. He’s not really her uncle, he’s her step-uncle, so they are not related by a true family line. Indeed, she was trying to take me beyond her uncle’s influence—and that is how I came to be here . . . I think.”
“You think? ”
“Forgive me, but I don’t recall what happened that I became separated from her, at least not now. Perhaps in time I will remember it all.”
“Nyoh, yes. In time, I am sure that you will.” Drawing in a deep breath, he reached out again for her, and taking one of her hands into his, he brought it to his lips, whereupon he kissed it. In response, Sarah’s senses suddenly jerked into life, and sensation, carnal and erotic, swept along her nerve endings. Furthermore, from deep within her arose a response that was as pleasant as it was a mystery to her.
What was this? Certainly she liked the man, but this? And from a mere touch?
She did her best to ignore the perception, however, if only because he was doing nothing more than looking at her—perhaps to ascertain her response. Indeed, after a moment, he continued. “But let me tell you this so that you may know my stance about your people.”
“Yes, please. Continue.” She loosened her hand from his grip.
He seemed not to notice her withdrawal from him, however. He acknowledged her with a nod, then he said, “Although I told you that when you remembered who you were and who your people were, I would lead you back to them, I little realized at that time that ‘your people’ might include a man so degraded that he would try to own a fellow human being. Let me be clear on this: I will not take you back to this place where a man deems that he owns you. Not while there is breath within my breast would I do this to you, or to any other person. I will bring you to my home, instead, where you will be free.”
Sarah wrinkled her brow. “But free to do what, sir? ”
“Free to be your own person. Free to live your life as you see fit. In my village, there will be many who would admire you, many who would want to spend the rest of their life with you. You would have a full life there.”
Well, she thought, this was certainly a new problem to face, and she fidgeted as she considered how best to approach it. After a moment, she said, “You are kind to suggest this, sir. But I think I would be unhappy if I failed to find and assume my obligation for the young woman who was in my charge. Besides, it would only be a matter of time before those who searched for me would discover me in your village, and then there would be trouble.”
“Trouble matters little to us,” he said, “for we of the Seneca are used to adversity.”
She gazed back at him, and gradually her solemn look transformed into a smile. “I appreciate your kindness, sir,” she said, “and I thank you for your consideration. But I am not Indian and I’m not part of your tribe, and sooner or later, I fear the past would catch up with me. Besides, I worry for the life of the young woman who was in my charge, and I don’t believe I’ll rest easily until I can discover her whereabouts and what has happened to her.”
“I understand,” he said. “It is good that you feel this way. But before I agree with what you ask, tell me: If I aid you in finding her, will she lead you back to this man who thinks he owns you?”
“Indeed not. But let me correct a false impression that you have, sir.
That man doesn’t own me. He owns my indenture papers.”
“There is little difference that I see.”
“But there is a difference. And please understand that Marisa would never take me back to her uncle. She had gone to great pains to secure me away from him. I believe that’s why we were traveling in the woods. We were escaping him and his influence over me. But as you have been open with me, speaking your thoughts, let me also speak with clarity: Even if Marisa were to escort me back to her uncle, I would not object.”
“I would.”
“But don’t you see, sir? Better it would be that I serve out my bond now to this man than never to return and spend the rest of my life in hiding. Surely you can understand this. At the end of my servitude, I would truly be free to be my own person, and I would then be at liberty to live my own life without having to leave my own society.”
Sarah watched as he bobbed his head up and down, his attention turned inward. At last, he said, “I understand that you believe this, but I fear you will only become free in your society if this man can find no other reason to detain you. Beware. At the end of five years, there could well be some other reason he concocts to keep you. I say this because any man who would flaunt the ways of the Creator is also a man who would lie. And such a man would do so without thought of consequences, I think.”
“But, sir,” she countered, “in order to keep me, he would have to tell untruths in a court of law, and I don’t believe he would dare to do it. After all, a court requires a man take an oath.”
“Hmph! A man such as he has already sold himself into the ways of darkness. Therefore, an oath would mean nothing to him because there is so little life left within him. What would it matter to him if he were to lose a little more of that life by telling untruths?”
“Sir, I fear I am not following your logic. That man is as alive as I am. Isn’t he? ”
White Thunder scrutinized her features while he took his time answering. Speaking slowly, as though choosing his words carefully, he said, “There is a wise, old sachem among us who proclaimed that a man or a woman such as this man does not truly live, because living encompasses not only caring for yourself, but caring for others.”
“But—”
“Tell me,” he continued, “how can a man who pleases only himself and no other be happy? ”
“But aren’t there many who do exactly that?
“Perhaps, for a short time. That person might even appear to be happy,” he said. “But true happiness of the mind, body and spirit is not possible to such a man. The laws of the Creator forbid it.”
“I . . . I don’t understand. What laws? ”
He frowned at her, before stating, “Let me tell it to you this way. Can a man find bliss and also ignore the child who goes hungry? Can a man be secure in his own needs when he pretends not to hear the cries of his slaves? ”
She opened her mouth to answer, but he saved her the necessity, when he went on to say, “No. Such men, by the laws of God, must shut off their understanding of others. They must have ears that do not hear and eyes that do not see. Thus they understand less and less, not only about others, but about themselves and the nature of creation. Because of this, such a man cannot experience life as you and I know it. He can only eat and sleep and perhaps ruin the lives of others. He does not truly live.
“If it were different, a man would have empathy for his fellow human beings, and would not own slaves, not merely because it is wrong—which it is—but because he would understand that all men and women are alive, too. He would respect it. That is why we of the Seneca say that such men merely exist. Happiness cannot be found at the expense of others, and particularly at the expense of those who you could help, and do not.”
Sarah bit down on her lip and stirred uneasily. It sounded so good, so wise, and she was struck by this man’s observation of life. But she’d lived in this world a good many years, and she’d observed otherwise. And so she countered, “While you speak wisely, sir, and these things that you say could be true, I fear that I have witnessed that such men appear to be happy. Marisa’s step-uncle, for instance, is this kind of man, and he certainly is able to accumulate many things that should make him happy. Plus, he surrounds himself with the finer qualities of life, and these things alone give him a life of ease.”
“Ah,” White Thunder replied, “but is that really living? Do we live out our lives only to gather objects and things? After all, happiness is not a thing, and it cannot be bought by the Englishman’s treasure.”
“True.”
“Know that he who would seek to own another’s soul, through debt or otherwise, is the kind of man who infects the world around him with the unhappiness of his own blackened soul. It is why when we Seneca discover that a man holding office has lied to the people, he is removed from his position and banished from the tribe. He is an object of disgust.”
“Banished? Disgust? ” Sarah shook her head and smiled at him. “I fear, sir,” she commented, “that in my society, if we were to do as the Seneca, there might possibly be no men left.”
Sarah gave him a brief smile, for she’d meant it in jest. But it appeared White Thunder didn’t share her mirth, and he said, “Perhaps you speak as you do only because the Englishman is allowed to lie. Whereas our people know that he who would tell an untruth about one thing will do so again about another. And if this is so, how then is one to ever trust that man again? ”
Sarah weighed his words carefully as she sat back. “You could be right. But, sir, as I mentioned before, there are legalities within the English justice system that would prevent the man, John Rathburn, from subjecting me to slavery.”
“And you believe this? ”
“I do. Our courts are good and are just. They will see that justice is done.” Bending at the waist, she sat forward. “But I am confused about one matter, sir. You speak of slavery as if it were an evil that your people have never engaged in or ever considered. However, it is my understanding that there are slaves among the Indians, also. I’ve heard that when Indians conquer a people, they take captives as slaves.”
“Who has told you this? ”
“I . . . I don’t remember their names at the moment.”
“Perhaps it is the way of societies that some men see one thing, but tell another. Or perhaps they seek to blacken the reputation of another, by seeing in another those things they, themselves, do. I say this because what you have heard is not true.”
“But the people who said this, and they wrote it also, had lived among the Iroquois.”
“I cannot account for these people or their honesty, since I have no knowledge of them. I will tell you what is true, however, and how it really is if you would care to hear of the Seneca’s version of the story? ”
“Indeed, I would.”
He rested back against his cushion, and once again reached out to grasp hold of her hand, causing her to follow him down. She lay by his side and, seeing her settled, he began, “When the Seneca conquers a people, it is true they often take prisoners. These people are brought back to the village, where they are either put to death to atone for the anger of one among us who has lost a loved one, or the captive is adopted into a family, where the person takes the place of a relative who was dearly loved. These prisoners are treated the same as the people they replace, and they are no more slaves than I am. They have a voice in their family, they have a say in the government of their new people and of their clan. They are certainly not owned by another. Indeed, they are a free people.”
Sarah absorbed his words in silence until at last she murmured, “If this be true, then I apologize, sir. It is evident that the information I have been told is biased. This is how it is for all captives? ”
“Not all,” he said, “but most of the time, this is true. In all societies there are men who practice cruelty. The Seneca are no different than other peoples. To say that a man or woman is always adopted would be wrong. But on the whole, what I have told you is true.”
“I see,” she said as she leaned in against his side, “I believe you.” Time passed as they lay silently against one another until at last she said, “Sarah. My name is Sarah.”
He grinned down at her. “I am happy to know it. It is a pretty name. Sarah. Miss Sarah. It’s almost as pretty as the woman who bears the name.”
“You flatter me, sir.”
“No flattery. What I say is fact as I see it.”
“Thank you. I am honored.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Will you do it, sir? Will you help me find the young woman who was entrusted to my care? ”
“Nyoh, yes,” he said, “I could do that. Or perhaps,” he hesitated, as though he were choosing his words with great care, “you might consider staying with me.”
Stay with him? What did he mean?
Sarah sat up on her elbows so that she could stare down into his countenance, trying to read his thoughts. But it was impossible. All she witnessed upon his handsome face was his own serious intent.
And so she asked, “Are you referring to marriage between us, sir? ”
“Neh, no.” He shook his head gently. “Forgive me, for I cannot.”
Her stomach fell, and she looked away from him, embarrassed. Of course she’d known this had to be his answer. However, this was the second time she’d introduced the subject of marriage in his presence, only to be rejected. It wasn’t as if she could marry him either, even if he asked her. Since her memory had returned, she was now aware of the many reasons this could never be.
Still, his rejection stung.
At length, she said, “If not marriage, then I suppose I don’t understand what it is you are proposing.”
He didn’t speak, at least not straightaway. Indeed, minute after minute seemed to crawl by as he appeared to reflect inwardly. Was he searching for the right words to thwart her? The thought had her leaving his embrace, and she sat up.