Savage Surrender

by Colleen French

  Rachael squealed with laughter, throwing two more. To her delight, both hit their mark, showering him with powdered snow.

  He dove for the cover of the wigwam again and Rachael grabbed for more snow. "Coward!" she shouted. Behind her she could hear other villagers young and old laughing as they threw their own snowballs.

  Rachael began to stalk Storm Dancer, several balls of snow cradled in her left arm. "Come out He-Who-Dances-In-The-Snowstorms," she coaxed in her sweetest voice. "Come out wherever you are!"

  When he made no reply, she whipped around the corner of the wigwam, a snowball ready to fire clutched in her mittened hand. To her surprise, he wasn't there. She looked down at his footprints in the snow and smiled mischievously. In the snow, even an amateur like Rachael could track a man!

  Chuckling to herself, she leaned over slightly, following his tracks. She walked around their wigwam, past another, then another, then under a tree . . . . Rachael stood upright suddenly, glancing behind her. The tracks ended abruptly.

  She looked around. There was no sign of him. He had disappeared! Only last night Storm Dancer had been telling her about a famous shaman who could make himself truly disappear in a puff of green smoke. Rachael had declared such a claim nonsense, but suddenly she wondered if it was true.

  "Storm?" She bent to look behind the tree. He wasn't there. She glanced out into the center compound where one of the men was pulling his two children on a flat hide sled. She lowered her hand to her hip, still holding the snowballs. "Very funny, now where are you?" Rachael called.

  She heard the slightest noise above her, but in the split second it took to look up, Storm Dancer flew out of the tree, knocking Rachael to the ground. She screamed with surprise as his body hit hers and they both fell headlong into the freezing snow.

  "Storm!" She laughed as she struggled to lift her face from the snow. "It's cold! Let me up!"

  He rolled onto his back, pulling her over him. He shook a bronze finger in her face. "You must be more cautious. Were I a mountain lion, fair Rachael, I would dine on you this evening."

  She leaned over his chest, peering into his liquid black eyes. "Were you a mountain lion," she said saucily, "I wouldn't be chasing you with snowballs!"

  He threw back his head, laughing as he lay back in the snow. Rachael stretched out over him, leaning to kiss his cold lips.

  "I love you, Rachael of mine," he murmured, looking up at her.

  "I love you, too," she answered, then looked away. "I'm sorry that I've disappointed you by not becoming with child."

  He sat up, the smile falling from his face. "You have not disappointed me." He grasped her arms, forcing her to look at him. "I told you, with or without children, I will love you and keep you as my wife, always." He brushed a bit of snow from her eyelashes. "Besides, it's only been a few moons. My grandmother explained to you that there are only certain days when a child can be made. You must learn to have more patience in this, Rachael."

  She compressed her lips tightly, knowing he spoke the truth, but somehow not being comforted by his words. She wanted so desperately to carry his child. It was almost as if that event would seal the covenant of their marriage. If she became pregnant she knew she could never go back to Philadelphia. By having his child she would really become one of the Lenni Lenape.

  Storm Dancer stood, and pulled her to her feet, brushing the snow off her soft rabbit coat. "Now kiss me, Wife, and let me go about my man's business. We are in need of fresh meat as are the others. I think it would be a good day for a hunt. Many of God's creatures will be out searching for food after such a heavy snowfall."

  Rachael kissed him soundly as she patted the snow off his winter coat. "Go on with you then and bring back a buck. I've a taste for fresh venison."

  "Rachael!" Dory called from the distance.

  Rachael looked over Storm Dancer's shoulder and waved.

  Dory came toward the couple, her cheeks rosy with cold, her breath frosty in the morning air. She was wearing an immense patchwork squirrel and rabbit coat with a soft white fox cap . . . a gift from one of her suitors.

  "Good mornin' to you!" she exclaimed, patting both Storm Dancer and Rachael on the back. "Good to see you came out of that rabbit hole alive. With the snow blowin' the way it did for the last two days, I was afraid you two would wear each other into your graves pawin' all over each other!"

  Rachael felt her cheeks grow warm, but she stuck out her tongue good-naturedly. It had taken her a while to accept how freely the Native Americans spoke of what she had always thought to be personal matters. She still had a difficult time discussing with others so candidly about making babies, but she was no longer offended by such talk. Every woman in the camp had a suggestion for fertility from a particular sexual position, to a kind of food she should be eating.

  Storm kissed Rachael again and with a wave of his hand, left the women in search of a hunting partner or two.

  For a moment Rachael and Dory stood side by side in silence watching the children and adults alike play in the snow. Yesterday's Thunder walked past them, murmuring a greeting and smiling at Dory as he made his way toward the gathering of men on the far side of the camp.

  Rachael waited to speak until he had passed. "So which one's it going to be?" she asked in a teasing manner. "Yesterday's Thunder or Shadows Man?"

  Dory rolled her green eyes heavenward. "Such a decision! I don't know. Shadows Man, he's my age. Had a wife that died and needs a mother for his two youngins. He's all loud and full of fun."

  "He'd make a good husband for you, Dory," Rachael offered.

  "Yea, he would, but then there's Yesterday's Thunder." She whistled between her teeth. "That man's got a hell of a young body on him and never had a woman. He's quiet and gentle. He says he don't care if I'm old and fat and used up from men. He don't care that I sold myself for a coin for supper when times was hard." She pulled off her white fur hat and ran a mitten through her orange-colored hair. "He says he likes me just the way I am. He says he wants to make babies with me."

  "He's a good man," Rachael commented.

  Dory sunk her elbow into her friend's side. "Already tried to have his way with me, that young buck did."

  Rachael couldn't resist a chuckle. "I would imagine both could be rather persuasive. They keep bringing us gifts, hoping Storm Dancer or I will sway you one way or the other." She threw up her arms in exasperation. "I keep telling them they don't have to give me things, but they keep leaving them at the door to our wigwam.

  Dory tucked her hat back on her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yea, it's gonna be a mighty hard decision to make."

  "Well, take your time." Rachael looked directly into Dory's clear blue eyes. "Choose the man that will make you the happiest. After all you've been through, you deserve to be happy, Dory."

  There was a moment of silence as Dory contemplated the decision she would soon have to make. Then she changed the subject. "Dove is going to tap some syrup. We thought we'd make the children some candy in the snow. Want to come?"

  Rachael looked back at her wigwam. "I have those boots of Storm's to finish sewing up. I wanted to put that waterproof lining in that Starlight showed me how to make."

  Dory grasped Rachael's mitten-covered hand and tugged. "Oh, come on with you. The first snowfall only comes oncest a year. Leave your sewing behind and come have some fun."

  It took Rachael only a moment to decide. She turned toward Dory, her face bright with laughter as she waggled her finger. "All right, but if Storm's angry with me tonight because his feet get wet hunting, I want you to take up for me."

  "I'll do better than that." Dory raised a chubby balled fist. "He gives you a hard time and I'll crack him."

  The women's laughter mingled as arm in arm they hurried toward the other women headed on the syrup expedition.

  A few evenings later a council meeting was called by Chief Starlight. She was very secretive with Rachael and Storm Dancer about why the meeting was necessary, but it was evident
that Storm Dancer would play a vital role in the dialogue that was to take place. Because of the importance of the subject to be discussed, not only would all council members be expected to attend, but every able-bodied adult in the village.

  There was a strange sense of excitement in the air as the villagers prepared for the eminent meeting. Rachael was introduced to the sweat house where she sat naked in hot steamy air to the point where she grew so light-headed she thought she would faint, and then was instructed to run out and jump into the snow.

  To Rachael's surprise, the shock of the cold snow on her overheated body was exhilarating. She truly did feel cleansed after the experience and not only in body, but in soul as well. She dressed carefully in the white buckskins Starlight had given her, and braided precious eagle pinfeathers, given to her by Storm Dancer, into her hair.

  Storm Dancer, too, took great care in preparing himself for the council meeting. First he fasted through the day, spending his time in deep meditation. Then he had gone to the sweat house where he had drunk some strange concoction with other braves, a drink meant only for significant occasions.

  When Storm Dancer returned to the wigwam, Rachael sensed his need for silence. Though she wanted to speak to him of her apprehension concerning the evening's agenda, she respected his wishes.

  Storm Dancer took great care in choosing his attire this night. Seated near the firepit, Rachael watched in fascination as he dressed. After donning a loincloth, he slipped into the new leggings she had made for him, wearing the rabbit fur on the inside. Despite the winter season, he added a porcupine-quilled, sleeveless vest given to him by Tuuban as a welcoming gift. On each of his biceps Storm Dancer wore a copper band, the glimmer of the metal seeming to emphasize the hardened muscles they enclosed.

  Using Rachael's porcupine brush, he brushed out his damp hair and attached a single eagle wing feather by a piece of leather so that it trailed down the back of his head. Using the hues from a small tin paintpot he carried in his medicine bag, he painted his face in burnt umber and sky blue. The lines, dots, and squiggles meant nothing to Rachael, but she could tell by the way he concentrated as he worked, that each mark symbolized something specific and that it was extremely important that he use the correct icons. He painted not only his face, but his arms and chest left bare by the open vest.

  Then to Rachael's astonishment, he came to her with the paintpot held in his hand. "Stand, wife of the Dancer of Storms," he bid in a voice that sounded strangely detached.

  Rachael raised up off the mat to stand before him.

  "Wear these symbols," he said as he stroked her cheek with his index finger, "as a sign of your position and of the bravery you have demonstrated."

  She stood perfectly still as he stroked her cheeks with his finger. The scent of the paint was pleasantly odd. It smelled musty and rich like ground peat and some unknown minerals. She felt slightly dizzy, but she wasn't certain if her light-headedness was from the odor of the paint or from her own nervous excitement.

  Storm Dancer carefully closed up his paintpot and returned it to his medicine bag. Then he came back to her, his pitch eyes searching her face until he had her utmost attention. He traced her jawline with the tip of his index finger and Rachael smelled a whiff of the dark red paint that still smudged his hand.

  "I do not know what is in store tonight. Both my grandfather and grandmother have been secretive. I believe the cloak of the village shaman will be passed on to me tonight, but there is something more brewing in the night air." He lowered his voice an octave as he reached for her hand and intertwined his fingers in hers. "Do you hear it? Listen beyond the pound of the drums."

  They were silent for a moment.

  "Do you smell it?" He tapped her temple. "Do you see it in your mind?"

  Rachael concentrated. Yes, yes she could feel something different about the air tonight. She glanced up anxiously at him. "I'm certain that whatever the village has in mind, Storm, you will be worthy of the honor."

  He released her hand and stepped back to strap his quilled belt around his waist. "I only hope that you are right, Wife." With his belt in place, he offered her his palm. "Come, the drums beat for us. We have been called."

  Storm Dancer and Rachael entered the ceremonial longhouse in reverent silence. They were ushered through two lines of villagers all dressed in their ceremonial clothes, some painted, some unpainted. Men and women stood side by side with only the children and the feeble absent.

  Rachael's hand trembled in Storm's as they made their way through the people she now claimed as friends into the longhouse and across the great room until they stopped and paid homage to Shaakhan the great medicine man and his wife and chief of the village, Hongiss Opaang, Starlight of the Lenni Lenape.

  Storm Dancer went down on one knee in honor of his grandmother's position; Rachael followed only a beat of the drum behind him. Starlight signaled with a wave of her long-stemmed pipe for them to be seated on the mats laid out between her and Shaakhan and they obeyed.

  With the guests of honor inside, the villagers entered the longhouse in silence. One by one they filed inside and took their appropriate seats. Not a sound could be heard as they walked, but the spit and crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of the drumbeat.

  When everyone was seated, the flap of the door was closed and laced from the inside. A log was added to the center firepit and a blaze shot up, filling the entire room with golden light.

  Starlight gave another wave of her hand and the drums ceased. She took her time in speaking, her gaze moving from one villager to the next. When she finally spoke it was in the clear, strong voice of a leader, not of an old, frail woman.

  "Greetings to you, brothers and sisters of the People." She spoke the Lenni Lenape native tongue, but slowly, so that Rachael could follow the conversation. "I thank you all for attending this high council meeting and I ask that you send your prayers heavenward in request that the God almighty, Wishemoto, will watch over us this night and guide us in the decisions which must be made."

  Starlight set her pipe aside. "As you know, our shaman, the great Shaakhan of the Turtle Clan, has asked that he be permitted to step down from his position. After more than sixty summers of devotion to his people, he believes it is time for a younger man to take his place."

  She indicated with a nod, Storm Dancer who sat between Rachael and Shaakhan. "You also know that my long lost grandson was returned to us only a few months ago, fulfilling the prophecy that a storm would dance out of the north to bring us salvation." She took a deep breath. "Because Storm Dancer was born into the birthright of the shaman, through his mother our daughter, Shaakhan took it upon himself to begin teaching his grandson the ways of the medicine man. With the knowledge Storm Dancer was born with and the help of his grandfather, it is my belief and the belief of Shaakhan that this man is ready to stand before you as shaman."

  Starlight raised her hand, telling Storm Dancer to rise. "I ask now that you speak to me of this man. Tell what is good in his heart, what is bad. Tell me why he should be shaman of our village and why he should not. This is the time to speak because once the decision is made, once you accept this man who lived among our enemies, he will be one of you forever. His sins will become ours, and he will be your shaman as long as he lives."

  Rachael watched and listened in fascination as Starlight called on one villager after another. Though her Algonquian was still weak, she understood much of what was said. Most villagers spoke only good of Storm Dancer and those who had an objection, were worried only by the fact that he had once been a Mohawk.

  More than an hour lapsed while Storm Dancer stood and the villagers spoke before Starlight raised both palms and a hush settled in the warm ceremonial house.

  "If that is all there is to say, then it is time we vote, brothers and sisters." She picked up a basket and a bundle of pine needles and handed them to a young boy who served as runner. "Because of the importance of this decision, I ask that you choose a needle and place it i
n the pot. Whole if Storm Dancer is your choice of Shaman, half a straw if he is not." She waved the boy on, and he began to make his way around the great circle of villagers.

  When the entire village had cast their vote, the boy returned the woven container to Starlight.

  The old woman startled Rachael by handing the basket to her. "We ask Rachael, wife of Storm Dancer, to do the honor of the count," Starlight said.

  Rachael peered into the basket and scooped out the brittle needles. Long, long, long . . . After a moment she glanced up at Starlight. "Not a short needle in the basket," she murmured.

  Starlight gave a sweep of her hand. "Then tell my people of their decision."

  Rachael took a deep breath and spoke slowly in Algonquian. A murmur rose among the villagers.

  Shaakhan rose from his mat, clasping his hands in obvious pleasure. One by one the others stood, including Rachael, until only Starlight remained seated.

  "You may do the honor of passing the cloak," Starlight told Shaakhan, her voice filled with emotion. It was obvious she was proud not only of Storm Dancer, but of Shaakhan, her husband of over fifty years, as well.

  With a great deal of ceremony, Shaakhan removed the cloak of the shaman he wore and rested it on Storm Dancer's shoulders. He chanted huskily as he turned Storm Dancer around three times and then faced him toward the villagers. Tears glimmered in Rachael's eyes as she watched Storm Dancer present himself to his friends and relatives.

  The cloak was the most exotic, beautiful garment she'd ever seen in her life. Floor-length, the entire cloak was sewn of a single woolly hide from an animal unbeknownst to her and not native to the area. The color and texture of the fur could only have come from some arctic region and Rachael was fascinated with the wonderment of how the Lenni Lenape came to possess the rare garment.

  The villagers clapped and stomped and whistled their praise and when the room was silent again, Starlight rose with the aid of her grandson's hand. She kissed him on both cheeks, then on the mouth.