Storm Dancer's tale of his life as a Mohawk finally drew to an end. For a moment or two there was silence in the wigwam. Rachael could almost hear the minds of Starlight and Shaakhan chewing over the information their grandson had provided, and storing it in the proper categories of their minds.
Shaakhan called for his pipe and Starlight fetched it for him, lighting it between her own teeth with a coal from the firepit just outside the wigwam door.
Shaakhan took several puffs on his pipe before he finally spoke. Once upon a time, Rachael would have grown impatient with the silence, but Storm Dancer had taught her the importance of contemplating one's words. Like her husband, she had grown to relish the peacefulness of silence.
"It is a sad thing that you lived so many years as you did, struggling to be a creature you could never be," Shaakhan said. "I wish that my daughter had never been taken from my arms. I wish that you had never been born into a place so far from here where ways are so different than our own." He sucked on his pipe. "But who am I to say that this was not all a part of the great plan of life? It is said that every word is spoken for a reason, every gesture, a purpose. It is sometimes hard for us to think that maybe we have little control over what happens to us. It is hard to admit that it may be fate that controls every moment we live from birth unto death . . . even beyond."
Starlight let out her breath in a hiss. "I think that is quite enough philosophical talk for one day, man of great wind. Let our grandson take his wife and rest. There will be tomorrow to talk and many tomorrows after that."
"But I have many things to discuss with the Dancer of Storms!" Shaakhan shook the stem of his pipe at his wife. "He does not look tired to me!"
Starlight rolled her eyes as she lay a hand gently on Shaakhan's shoulder. "I was trying very gently, Husband, to tell you that it is time for your nap."
Rachael laughed, rising off the cornhusk mat where she had sat for much of the afternoon. "I don't know about you, Shaakhan—"
"Call me grandfather. Your sweet young voice is music to these ears."
"Grandfather, then." She gave a nod. "I'm tired even if you aren't. I'd love a nap."
"Tuuban will see that you are taken to the guest's wigwam. Take your man and go and I will see you in the evening. My guess from the sounds outside, would be that there will be much celebrating tonight."
Storm Dancer stood. "I want to thank you, Grandfather, for taking me in so easily. I—"
"Enough, Dancer of the Storms. You will make this old man weep with joy and embarrass himself. What kind of man would I be that I would not take my only daughter's son as my own?"
"But after what my father did to you in taking my mother, I could not blame you great Shaakhan, if you did not wish to lay claim upon my tainted blood."
"Tainted! Ha! You are good luck, I should say, Grandson. And you will be of great help in the months to come. You have been sent for a reason. Prophesy is always fulfilled given time."
"You speak of this prophesy, but you do not say why I have been sent to you, Grandfather. Tell me so that I may know what I am to do."
Shaakhan waved Storm Dancer away. "All in good time. Now take your bride and leave me to lay this old worthless body down for a rest so that I can join in the festivities tonight."
"But, Grandfather—"
Rachael pulled on Storm Dancer's arm. "You heard Grandfather, all in good time," she said gently.
Starlight winked at Rachael and pushed back the corn husk door flap so that Rachael and Storm Dancer could step out into the fading shadows of afternoon. "What would these men do without women?" she teased.
"Where is my pillow, Wife?" Shaakhan complained as he stretched out to sleep. "Stop flapping your tongue and come do my bidding as a good woman should."
Starlight smiled at Rachael and let the deerskin fall behind Rachael and Storm Dancer. "Coming, old man! I'm coming."
Rachael rested her cheek on Storm Dancer's muscular shoulder. "I like them," she whispered. "It's almost like home here, only better."
He brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from her neat braid. "Life is good, isn't it?"
She lifted up on her toes and kissed him. "Life is good."
Tuuban stood by the door of Shaakhan's wigwam, looking away discreetly as he allowed the couple to have a private moment together. Then he spoke. "Let me take you to your wigwam. It has been prepared."
"Dory? My friend Dory?"
"She is well. My cousin, Laughing Rain, is a widow. She has asked Dory to join her in her home so that you and Storm Dancer may be alone. It is not right for a man and a woman to have to share time in marriage with others."
"You're certain she's all right?"
"I can take you to her, if you so wish." The brave pointed across the camp. "Last I saw her, she and Laughing Rain were going to gather honey from a beehive."
Rachael looked up at Storm.
"I would think Dory could care for herself, Rachael," he suggested softly. "Come let us see our new home."
The sparkle in Storm Dancer's eyes made Rachael think that perhaps he had ulterior motives for wanting to get her inside their new home. Her heart skipped a beat and she felt her face flush. How unfashionable she would have been in London to be so taken with her husband. How wanton she was to want to touch him the way she wanted to touch him right now.
Storm Dancer's arm fell casually over her shoulder as they followed Tuuban. Several villagers waved a greeting. Two young girls in their teens giggled as they walked by, their eyes on Storm Dancer's handsome physique. Rather than being jealous, the girls' attention made Rachael proud. They could look all they wanted. It was she he took home to his wigwam. It was she he would make love to on the bed mats tonight.
The wigwam Tuuban led them to was almost identical to Shaakhan and Starlight's except that, because it was the guest quarters, there were only a few baskets and strings of herbs and dried vegetables hanging from the rafters. The wigwam was cool inside and smelled faintly of fresh pine boughs. A sweating gourd of water had been left in the doorway as well as several wooden bowls of various berries, sweetened corncakes, and other tasty morsels.
Tuuban hung outside the doorway. "If there is anything I can get for you, please call upon me. I would be honored to help you in any way I can."
Storm Dancer turned to Tuuban, and spoke in Algonquian. "You have been kind, Cousin. I will not forget the hospitality you have offered a man with nowhere to go."
"Nowhere to go? You fool yourself. This home has waited your arrival for many years. Shaakhan the great medicine man said you would come. He saw you in his dream and you came as he promised. I am only glad I did not have to wait another coming of the seasons to finally meet you." Tuuban glanced at Rachael who had sat down to take off her moccasins. "Your wife is very beautiful even with her pale skin. I envy you."
Storm Dancer couldn't resist a glimpse at her. "She is indeed beautiful and with the temper of a crazed bee."
The two laughed easily as if they had been friends for a lifetime and Rachael looked up, wondering what was so amusing.
Tuuban gave a wave over his shoulder. "Rest, friends, for tonight we celebrate," he said slipping into English. "You will not be disturbed, I will see to it myself."
For a moment after Tuuban had gone and the cornhusk door had dropped, Rachael and Storm Dancer looked at each other in silence.
Rachael smiled, patting the mat beside her, indicating that he should sit down. "It's almost too good to be true, but it is true, isn't it, Storm? We are welcome here."
He came to sit beside her. "It seems my mother was right. My grandparents have taken us in with open arms. I only wish that I knew what they spoke of when they said I was part of a prophecy. I don't know what they expect of me. I do not know why I did not see a future here in a waking dream."
"What is it you tell me sometimes? I think too much and live too little? Stop thinking, Dancer of the Storms, and live as you tell others. Your grandfather and grandmother are wise. They will not
expect what you cannot give."
He caught a lock of her hair and brushed it between his fingers. "I think we could have a good life here, Rachael. I think that you will be glad you came with me. There was no life for you in the Philadelphia with the coward."
Rachael looked away. She didn't want to spoil their happiness with an argument over Gifford. Nor did she want to discuss the idea that she still thought it was wrong for him to have not given her the opportunity to say good-bye to her brother.
She turned back to him, raising her arms to rest them on his broad shoulders. She smiled as her fingers found the edging of his vest and she tugged it off. She pressed her lips to the warm skin of his shoulder, then to his neck, then his ear. She kissed her way to his mouth, enjoying his sighs of pleasure.
"I think we should celebrate, Husband."
"Celebrate?" His voices was husky and warm. "Do you wish to dance? To sing? This is the way our people celebrate," he teased.
"Mmmm, that all sounds wonderful, but I had something else in mind. Something more intimate. Wifely duty you could call it." She kissed her way across the hard muscles of his chest, her lips finding the nub of his nipple. When she took it between her teeth and tugged gently, he groaned.
"Oh, Rachael, Wife, I promise we will be happy together, you and I, in this new land." He pulled her into his lap, kissing her. "And I promise there will be children to love and be loved," he added against her lips.
She unlaced her bodice, letting her breasts free so that she could brush her bare chest against his. "You want my child?"
"It is what every man wants who loves a woman."
"If I had a child, you know I could never leave it. I could never leave you. Is that why you want a babe?"
He pushed her hair back off her cheek. "No," he answered firmly. "I want a child to love as I love you. Do you not wish for a papoose to cradle in your arms?"
She nodded ever so gently. "I do, Storm Dancer. A baby would make our life complete, wouldn't it?"
His thumb brushed against her nipple as his lips sought hers. "A life is never complete until you breathe your last breath, Wife. But yes, a son or a daughter would make my heart sing."
Locked in an embrace, they rolled onto the sleeping mat, limb entangled in limb. As Storm Dancer pushed away Rachael's clothing so they could be flesh against flesh she felt a rush of happiness she had never experienced before. Too good to be true, her own words echoed in her head.
Chapter Eighteen
The leaves fell from the trees as fall blew into the Chesapeake with its blustering winds and cooler temperatures. With the help of Starlight and the other women in the Lenni Lenape camp, Rachael kept busy with the harvest season ritual of preserving food for the long cold winter ahead. She was so occupied by her new duties and position in the village that the days and weeks slipped by like grains of precious salt slipping from her fingers.
Side by side the women worked to gather the three sisters—squash, corn, and beans—from their small but prosperous summer gardens. The wives of the village were so anxious to help the newlyweds set up housekeeping that they showered Rachael with baskets of fresh vegetables and herbs grown lovingly all summer. They took their time to patiently demonstrate to her how each item could be preserved and then stored so that she could provide for her husband throughout the winter. They worked tirelessly at her side, guiding her, laughing with her, teaching her the ways of the Lenni Lenape.
The women not only tended the garden, but fished and clammed beside their husbands as well. Their catch from the shores of the great Chesapeake bay and Metuksit River were smoked on racks and stored in the wigwams on long strings. The women and children gathered honey and stored it in wax-sealed pots. Pits were dug outside the wigwams, lined with dried leaves, filled with fruits and vegetables, then buried to protect the precious foodstores from freezing temperatures. It was a busy but contented time for the Lenni Lenape when the men hunted and cared for the children while the women prepared for winter.
Rachael was overjoyed with the new life she and Storm Dancer had been exiled to. It was better than she could ever have dreamed. Her entire life she had always experienced a strange sense of detachment from the world around her, but suddenly she felt as if she were in the center of the universe. For the first time in her life she felt as if she belonged.
Not only did she enjoy the company of the women of the village but she thrived on her husband's attention. They fished together. They dove for oysters off the shore of the bay. He made baskets for her from the reeds of the riverbank to store her foodstuffs. He sat across from her at their firepit and played haunting tunes on his bone flute for her. They swam in the cold bay and made love on the shore by the light of the moon.
As the weeks enfolded into months, Rachael saw Storm change subtly. He became more relaxed, less moody, less brooding. Shaakhan began to train his grandson for the honorable position of shaman of the village and Storm Dancer excelled under his grandfather's rigorous instruction.
Despite the fact that Shaakhan insisted that Storm Dancer begin his study immediately, the old man remained elusive concerning Storm Dancer's purpose for coming to the village.
Rachael suggested that it was the position of shaman that Storm had been meant to take when his grandfather died, but Storm Dancer insisted his grandfather had ulterior motives. Shaakhan was a crafty old man who had more up his sleeve than he cared to bare.
The entire village treated Storm Dancer as he were a gift from the heavens. They all seemed to know the path he would follow to fulfill the prophesy Shaakhan had related to them, but no one was willing to speak of the matter with Storm Dancer or Rachael.
While Shaakhan had aided Storm Dancer in cultivating his ability to see waking dreams to the point that Storm Dancer could often invoke them, Storm Dancer found it very frustrating that he could not foresee events concerning himself or Rachael. Though Shaakhan expressed great pleasure in his grandson's progress, Storm Dancer was impatient with his seemingly trivial accomplishments. When he expressed his concerns to his grandfather, the old man only laughed. "In time, grandson of mine," he offered often. "All comes to the man who waits in good time."
At the sound of Storm Dancer's voice, Rachael glanced up from the stone and mortar she knelt at, forgetting for the moment the corn meal she was grinding. She smiled at the sight of her husband standing beside a wigwam speaking to one of the men, Yesterday's Thunder. Storm Dancer wore a new sleeved vest and the new leggings she had made for him with the help of Starlight. The wind whipped the long inky black hair that fell across his shoulders, framing his high, bronze cheekbones, making him a striking sight to any woman.
With the coming of winter, Rachael had realized her and Storm Dancer's immediate need for warm clothing. They had left the Mohawk village carrying only what was necessary to survive. Upon their arrival on the Chesapeake, Starlight had put herself immediately in charge of the newlyweds' winter clothing needs. One morning she appeared at their wigwam with a pile of soft tanned leathers and sat down to instruct Rachael on the rudimentary steps of sewing. Rachael was delighted to find that she had far more talent sewing vests and leggings than she had ever had embroidering her father's household bed linens. Within a few days both she and Storm Dancer and Dory had several modest but warm, well-sewn winter outfits. By using some of her own basic sewing knowledge Rachael found that she could even improve on the Lenni Lenape standard garments with darts and attached sleeves. The other women admired the betterments so much that they were soon asking for her help in sewing clothing for their own families. Rachael's current project, a rabbit fur coat, was the talk of the sewing circles that gathered in the late afternoons. All the women were so envious of the fuss Storm Dancer made each time he presented his wife with more rabbit skins that they all went home to their husbands and insisted on having new coats of their own.
Storm Dancer caught a glimpse of Rachael out of the corner of his eye and his expression softened. He continued to listen to what the brave stan
ding next to him said, but his thoughts were obviously on Rachael.
She felt her face flush and she returned her attention to her cornmeal. If anyone had ever told her she would feel like this toward a man, toward a savage, she would have called them a liar. It amazed her how the differences in her and Storm Dancer's upbringing seemed to be of little consequence. They weren't just in love; they honestly liked each other and enjoyed each other's company, something unknown in the life-style Rachael had grown up in.
Occasionally Rachael wondered what she would be doing if she were back in Philadelphia. She thought of the afternoon teas and the balls she had missed . . . she would miss. She thought of the excitement a duel or illegitimate child created. She thought of the hours spent shopping or standing for a matuamaker to have gowns made for her. The delightful thing was that it didn't matter. She felt no sense of loss when she thought of the lace and silk she had once worn and the exotic foods she had sampled. She didn't miss the servants or the feather tick mattresses or the glitter of crystal.
Suddenly Rachael realized Storm Dancer was crouching in front of her and she gave a startled gasp. He laughed when she jumped and he reached out to pull a thick dark braid playfully. "Do you dream of lovers past?" he teased.
She looked up, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She wondered how it was that every word that came from his mouth was poetry to her ears. "You know there's no one else but you. I was just thinking of how happy I am at this very moment."
"Making cornmeal makes you happy? You are an easy woman to please, Rachael-wife," he teased as he took the grinding stone from her hands and began to grind the corn for her. Her laughter brought a smile to his face as he watched her dust the cornmeal from her hands. "I am glad you like it here," he murmured.
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