"You are my wife."
She smiled slyly. "No, your other wife. The first one. The one who came before me."
"I speak the truth when I say it is bad luck to speak her name. I speak the truth when I tell you that only you, wife Rachael, live in my heart."
Rachael shifted her weight. She could still feel him inside her, but now his manhood seemed to be pulsing, growing within her. She decided to let the subject of his dead wife drop, at least for the time-being. She kissed his shoulder, his neck, the lobe of his ear and then whispered, "I suppose we should get back to camp. Dory will be anxious."
"We should return," he answered, his breath warm and caressing in her ear, but first . . . " He moved so quickly that all Rachael could do was hold on as he lowered her onto her back on the moss-covered ground and rose up over her, his burgeoning shaft still buried deep inside her.
Rachael laughed, a slow, sensual laugh. A truce had been met. She knew it. He knew it. Rachael would speak no more of Philadelphia for now. They would go to the Delaware village on the Chesapeake and hope they would find acceptance there among She-Who-Weeps' family. Rachael would be Storm Dancer's wife and try to live up to the meaning of the covenant. Perhaps there would even soon be a child.
But the subject of Philadelphia would arise again. She knew it. He knew it.
Rachael moaned as Storm moved against her, guiding her down the path of loving once more and she released all conscious thoughts, letting them be replaced by the sensations of physical pleasure that were too strong to resist. One day she would go back to Philadelphia. One day she would see her brother Thomas again and say a proper farewell. Only then could she truly give herself to Storm Dancer and the love he offered.
"Tell me again," Rachael whispered to Storm, her hand in his.
"I have told you, Rachael, the Lenni Lenape are not like the Mohawk. Life will be different here for you, you will see. You have nothing to fear."
They walked with a tall, slender young Delaware brave, Kolheek, and his identical twin brother, Kumhaak. Just after dawn Storm Dancer, Rachael, and Dory had come upon the young men. They had drawn weapons at the sight of the Mohawk warrior and his two women, but Storm Dancer kept his hands at his sides and spoke to them in Algonquian, their native tongue. The young warrior Kolheek had responded hesitantly, his voice strained, but his suspicions had eased as Storm spoke.
In the tongue of the Delaware his mother had taught him as a boy, Storm Dancer explained to Kolheek and Kumhaak that he was looking for his mother's people. The braves not only knew of Shaakhan, the man of the wind and his wife, Hongiis Opaang, who was the chief of the village, but came from that same village. Storm Dancer's eyes had danced at the thought that the grandparents he had never known still lived. Now the two young men escorted Storm Dancer, Rachael, and Dory to the village, with one brave walking in front of them and one behind.
"Tell me that you love me, anyway," Rachael murmured in his ear.
He sighed with exasperation, but his spirit was not dampened. The trip from the great lakes of Iroquois country to the salt bay of the Chesapeake had been long and tiring. It felt good to know that they had finally reached their destination. It felt good to know that soon he might well have a home to take his wife to . . . a home to raise sons and daughters in. "I love you, Rachael. I love you as the moon loves the stars. I love you as the darkness loves the sunshine. I love you as—"
She sank her elbow into his side, laughing. "Enough poetics. You embarrass me with such nonsense."
Dory gave a snort, hustling along the path, clicking her tongue between her teeth. "The two of you sound like a pair of lovesick fools acooin' and abooin'. Makes me want to retch just listenin' to you." Her voice was harsh, but she was smiling as she hurried to keep up. She hadn't asked about the truce Storm Dancer and Rachael had made, but she made no bones about being pleased that the three of them were going to the Lenni Lenape village together. She began to talk of children and what good parents the two of them would make.
The September sun was straight overhead when the taller of the two young men cupped his hands over his mouth and made a trill bird-sound. Rachael couldn't place the exact bird that made the sound, but she knew it was something familiar. The sound was immediately echoed and then the group moved onward.
By the time Storm Dancer, Rachael, and Dory entered the well-guarded Delaware camp, word had already spread by way of the sentries that unusual visitors approached. As the three strangers and their escorts came into the camp, bronze villagers were already hurrying toward them.
Rachael immediately noted a difference between her arrival here in the Lenni Lenape village and her arrival in the Mohawk camp only a few months earlier. The villagers still chattered among themselves, but their voices echoed different emotions. They were curious, even excited, but there was no obvious hostility. As they approached, their faces were unlined by frowns, their body language unhindered by fear or hate.
Kolheek stepped forward and gave introductions, seemingly proud of his find, while Kumhaak hung back, embarrassed by the attention.
A hushed gasp of surprise rose among the villagers as Storm Dancer lowered his eyes in greeting, then lifted his head to speak of who he was. He told the Delawares who his mother had been and that she had sent him. Though Storm Dancer was a Mohawk, and therefore, an enemy to the Delaware, they all seemed to be familiar with the story of She-Who-Weeps' kidnapping so many years ago. Because Storm Dancer was the child of She-Who-Weeps, who his father was, be he Mohawk or the devil himself, seemed of little consequence.
After Storm Dancer introduced Rachael and Dory and then fell silent, there was a moment when all eyes were upon him and Rachael. It was as if everyone chewed his story thoughtfully. Then suddenly the villagers were coming forward in greeting. They hugged and kissed both Storm and Rachael as if they were all long lost brothers and sisters. There was a slapping of shoulders among the men and giggles among the women.
Rachael noticed at once that just as Storm Dancer had promised, a woman's position in this village seemed much different from that of one in the Mohawk village. Men and women mixed without thought, rather than always dividing with men on one side and women on the other. There also seemed to be a great deal more affection between men and women—not sexual contact, but friendly, warm touching. Rachael could immediately spot several couples of varying ages. Rachael also noticed that some men had children with them, while women stood beside them talking with free hands. One father held his tiny daughter across his shoulder, the little girl laughing, her voice filling Rachael's heart with hope. Another father carried a sleeping baby on his back in a cradle board.
And then of course the fact that Storm Dancer's grandmother could be the chief, set apart the Lenni Lenape from the Mohawk. While among the Mohawk the women were not even permitted to sit in on council meetings, here, a woman ran them!
There was so much confusion as the anxious villagers all tried to introduce themselves at once that Rachael gave up trying to keep track of who was who. It seemed that everyone was Storm Dancer's cousin. Some of the Delawares spoke English to her, while others just smiled and nodded. Rachael hung on to Storm Dancer's arm smiling, happy to see him smiling.
After twenty minutes of introductions, a Delaware brave approached Storm Dancer. He gazed at him with a strange mixture of wonderment and familiarity.
"The Dancer of the Storms has come to us," the newcomer said in Algonquian.
Storm Dancer nodded respectfully, but then looked up with a quizzical glance. "You know me, friend?" He spoke English for Rachael's benefit.
"I am called Tuuban." Tuuban's English was without flaw, as he too lapsed into the language of the guest, as was customary. "And yes I know you, yet I do not." He smiled, crossing his arms over his chest as he still stared at Storm Dancer. "For two years my grandfather has told me of how a storm will come out of the north to lift our people to safety."
"I do not know what to say," Storm Dancer spoke carefully. "I fear that I am
not who you seek."
"Oh—you are he." Tuuban grinned. "There is no doubt in this man's mind, nor will there be a doubt in Grandfather's once he hears your voice."
"Who is your grandfather?"
"He is the wind, Shaakhan, and your grandfather as well. My father and your mother are brother and sister. I am sorry that my father was not here to great you properly, but he has gone to the white settlement of Annapolis to trade." He nodded in the direction of the wigwams. "I was sent to bring you to our grandparents. They wait, but they are impatient."
Storm Dancer nodded and turned to Rachael. "My grandparents ask that I come to their wigwam—their home."
Rachael released his hand. "Then go. I'll be all right." She looked around her. Though quite a few people had wandered off to return to chores, there were still many villagers standing around in clumps talking and laughing as if they were on an afternoon outing. "I'll come to no harm among these people."
"No." He took her hand securely in his. "You must come. If I am to be accepted into the clan of my mother's people, you too must be accepted as my wife. I will not go where you are not welcome."
Rachael's eyes glistened with unshed tears. Since they had agreed to disagree on the subject of Philadelphia things had been good between them. Each day she found herself more and more thankful that she had Storm, no matter what the circumstances had been leading to it.
Rachael squeezed his hand. "We go together, then."
Storm Dancer gave a nod to Tuuban and they were off. Storm Dancer was to meet the grandparents he had never known . . . the woman who was chief of the village and made the final decision as to whether he was welcome or not, and the man who had declared war on the Mohawks some thirty years ago.
Chapter Seventeen
As Rachael and Storm Dancer passed through the Lenni Lenape camp, Rachael took in her new surroundings. The village barely resembled that of the Mohawks. The homes the Delaware lived in, called wigwams, were made for single families, rather than for communal living as many longhouses were among the Mohawks. The wigwams were round structures with dome roofs. Storm Dancer related from his mother's memory how small saplings were driven into the ground and their tops bent and tied with twisted reeds or strips of inner bark from basswood. Smaller limbs were then threaded crosswise through the framework. The outside and inside walls were covered with bark shingles or mats made of cornhusk or grass. A cornhusk mat covered the doorway for privacy and there was a center hole for the firepit smoke to escape through the roof which could be covered when it rained.
The homes, Rachael could see, were also arranged differently. In the Mohawk camp there was a definite structure to the camp, with your importance in the village playing an important role in where your longhouse was situated. Here in the Lenni Lenape village there seemed to be little rhyme or reason to the haphazard arrangement of the houses, other than that they formed an approximate circle, all doorways opened to the east and that there was a ceremonial house in the center.
Tuuban reached a wigwam that looked like the others and came to a halt. Rachael noticed a sudden tenseness in Storm Dancer's touch as he held her hand. She smoothed his muscular arm. "They will be glad to have you," Rachael whispered.
Storm Dancer stared at the open door of the wigwam. "The Mohawk are the enemy of the Delaware. We have fought their braves, burned their villages, stolen their women. A Mohawk, my father, kidnapped Shaakhan's daughter thirty years ago. He despises the Mohawk and curses our children. There is a strong hate in his heart for the People of the Flint Country." His gaze shifted to Rachael's face. "He may have hate in his heart for me as well."
"Nonsense. You have forgotten all that you have told me, Husband. Here among the Lenni Lenape you are your mother's child. You don't think she would have told you to come if she hadn't known they would accept you."
"She spoke to a spirit. Perhaps I misinterpreted."
Rachael couldn't resist a smile. She appreciated a little hesitancy in her strong, confident husband. It made him seem more human . . . more like herself. "Tuuban says your grandfather knew you were coming. He says he has been expecting you. Now let's go meet your grandparents."
Storm Dancer took a soul-cleansing breath and then turned to Tuuban who waited patiently. Storm Dancer nodded and Tuuban led them inside the wigwam.
Tuuban made no introduction, but simply stepped aside. Rachael stood beside Storm Dancer, her fingers tangled in his.
The Shaakhan of the Delaware sat cross-legged on a padded cornhusk mat chewing contentedly on a drumstick. The man's face was a mass of leathery wrinkles, his hair a pure silvery gray that fell below his waist. His eyes were the white clouded eyes of a blind man.
"Dancer of the Storms!" Shaakhan chuckled as he tossed his turkey bone into the air and an old woman leapt up with a basket and caught the bone in the basket in midair. He wiped his greasy lips on a bit of cloth she pushed into his hand.
Horgiss Opaang, Rachael thought. Starlight, Storm's grandmother—chief of the village.
"Good day to you, great Shaakhan, wind of the Turtle Clan, of the Lenni Lenape." Storm Dancer went down on one knee in reverence.
Rachael copied him, lowering her head, listening carefully to the Shaakhan's strong voice as he spoke his native tongue.
The old man waggled a finger. "Come, come and sit with me, Grandson. There are no formalities in my wigwam." He patted the mat beside him. "Come sit and tell me who this white woman is that smells like the heavens. I warn you. No matter what poor habits you may have learned among those man-eaters, you will not be allowed to continue them here. We take no captives. It brings ill-luck to a people."
Storm Dancer rose. "This is my wife, Rachael, Shaakhan. She comes of her own free will." He said it in Algonquian, then in English as if to verify with Rachael the truth of his statement. He took her hand and lifted it so that she stood beside him.
Shaakhan seemed to stare at her, though he was obviously blind. "With babe, is she yet?"
"No, Shaakhan, but we hope God will bless us soon with sons and daughters."
He gave a harrumph. "Enough of this Shaakhan this, Shaakhan that. I have waited long for you, grandson of mine." He hit his bare chest, which was surprisingly muscular and well-formed for a man of his obvious years. "Call me grandfather!"
"Forgive me for words, sir, but how do you know I am your grandson? We have never laid eyes on each other. My mother was taken from you at least thirty years ago. I could be an imposter."
He made another disgruntled sound. "This is something a man knows. Besides, I have seen you. I have seen you in my dreams. I heard you coming like a great storm that blows over our forest, all power and strength."
"You are rude, Shaakhan!" the old woman said, first in Algonquian and then in English for Rachael's sake. "I stand here being the dutiful wife, waiting for you to introduce my grandson to me. I have waited patiently long enough!" She came across the clean swept dirt floor and threw her thin arms around Storm Dancer in a great hug.
Rachael saw tears cloud her eyes as Storm Dancer returned the embrace. Starlight was a beautiful woman despite the wrinkles of time and the snow in her hair.
Shaakhan groaned. "Hush your mouth old woman, else I'll throw you to the bears and find myself a new young maid to take as wife."
Starlight stepped back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, unashamed by her tears. "Oh hush your own mouth, old man. What maid would have you with a worm as shriveled as yours?"
Shaakhan laughed, slapping his knee. "Still does the job though, doesn't it wife of mine?"
Starlight switched back to English again, her voice teasing. "The poor old fool. He's not right in the head. Ignore his babbling, Grandson and Granddaughter."
"She speaks the English tongue because she thinks I know not the words," Shaakhan said carefully in English. "But, I would be a fool not to learn my enemy's language, wouldn't I, Grandson?"
"It is always wise to know the opponent," Storm Dancer replied, amused by his grandmoth
er and grandfather's antics.
Rachael laughed with the elderly couple, enjoying the playful banter between them. It was obvious the two were deeply in love with each other, even after many years of marriage. Rachael couldn't help wondering if her and Storm's marriage would ever be this wonderful this many years down the path of life.
"Sit, sit, Grandchildren," Starlight insisted, ushering both Rachael and Storm Dancer to the place where guests of honor sat. "Sit and I will bring you food and drink. I know it has been a long journey here on both heart and soul."
Storm Dancer sat beside his grandfather and Rachael sat beside Storm Dancer. The old man reached out and took Storm Dancer's hand, seeming to know exactly where it lay without having need to see it. "I should never have doubted my waking dreams, Grandson," he said, the joy obvious in his voice. "I should have known you would come to save us."
"I am glad that I have come to be at your side, Grandfather, but I fear I cannot save you from whatever harm has come your way." He looked away. "I could not save my own people."
"Ha! That is because we are your people, not those savages who paint their faces blue and fornicate with animals!" He patted Storm Dancer's hand. "Now tell me how it is that you finally come to us." The old man's eyes shone brightly despite their lack of sight.
Starlight brought Rachael and Storm Dancer a feast of turkey, stewed corn, and sweet blueberries. As they ate, he related to his grandparents how he came to lose favor with his father's people and how his eventual shunning came about.
Rachael was surprised to find that she understood much of what Storm Dancer said to his grandparents. She was glad that he had spent so much time on their journey south teaching her the language of the Lenni Lenape because suddenly it was very important to Rachael that she be able to communicate with those around her. If she and Storm were to be accepted among the Lenni Lenape, she wanted to truly be one of them, rather than just a guest. It struck her as odd that these complete strangers were so thrilled to see their long lost relative who was half enemy simply because he was also half Lenni Lanape. On the other side of the coin, it mattered not that Rachael was a white woman, again the enemy. Because she was Storm Dancer's wife, on the condition that she was worthy of the honor, she would be adopted into the village and would never be thought of a manake-equiwa again.
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