"You are no longer my wife, Ta-wa-ne. You betrayed our vows and I released you as wife. You must leave this village. I will give you food and an escort. You are not welcome here."
"You would have this woman leave and take your son?"
"I don't know that he is mine. He could be anyone's. You were quite free with what should have been mine."
"He is yours." She turned the corncakes which were browning nicely. The wigwam smelled faintly of baking corn bread. "I have nowhere to go. The trapper has left me behind."
"You cannot stay here, Ta-wa-ne! You have brought my life to near ruin once. You will not do so again!" He shouted in Iroquois, the words tasting foul on his breath.
She stood. "And what of your son? You want to see him die of starvation in the forest? You want him to die of the cold or be eaten by wolves?"
The little boy looked up at Storm Dancer at that moment and clapped his chubby hands, his lips turning up into a smile and dimpling his round cheeks.
He was a beautiful child. Storm thought of the baby he and Rachael yearned for. "What is his name?" He had not meant to ask Ta-wa-ne about the child. He had not meant to allow himself the opportunity to form any attachment. Ta-wa-ne was a liar. The child was probably not his.
"I call him Ka-we-ras, the great thunder of his father's storm."
"He is a well-mannered boy."
"He is a troublesome child forever in need of punishment." She didn't even bother to look at her son. "He is in need of a father to teach him the ways of a man."
Storm shook his head. "You must go from my lodge, Ta-wa-ne. Go now."
She looked up from where she knelt at the firepit. "I have nowhere to go. Redbeard says he will kill me and my son if I cross his path again. I cannot travel in the winter with such a small child. I have nowhere to protect my son from the cold but your lodge, Storm Dancer. Surely a great shaman like yourself would not throw a child into the snow on a day like this."
"You did not know I was here, Ta-wa-ne. It was but luck that you found me. You do not want me. If I had not been here, it would be another man who would take you in and feed you." He looked away and then back at her again, his pitch eyes boring down on her. "I will give you food and then you must go from here."
She placed two corn cakes on a wooden trencher and set it on his mat. "It is not luck that brought me here, but fate, my dear husband. Now, come eat, before it grows cold."
What is it with the women this day, Storm Dancer thought. Do they not hear my words with their ears?
But what could he do if the trapper had truly turned Ta-wa-ne away? He could not let the child starve or freeze to death because he had no protector. Even if there was the barest chance the child was his, he could not see him come to ill-fate. And even if the child wasn't his, he had a moral obligation to any of God's children.
Storm Dancer grabbed his winter cloak and threw it over his shoulder in fury. He did not like being forced into anything. As if his problems were not great enough with Rachael so angry with him, and the new burdens of shaman upon his shoulders, now he was being forced to provide shelter and care for Ta-wa-ne and her child.
Of course he could not stay here now. He almost laughed at the irony of the fact that yesterday morning he and Rachael had made love here in the cozy haven of their wigwam and this morning it was no longer theirs. He snatched his bow from its resting place in angry frustration.
"Where do you go? You have not yet eaten," Ta-wa-ne protested getting to her feet.
The little boy whimpered and put out his hands to her but she slapped him away, concerned only with Storm Dancer's departure.
"Feed the child," he ordered. "There is foodstuff in the baskets and plenty more. Use what you may." He slung the bow over his shoulder and headed for the door. "You may sleep here for now. I will go elsewhere."
She caught his arm. "You need not leave your own home. If the white woman has left you, you will need a woman to attend your needs." She rubbed his arm with her palm in a coy gesture, her voice honey-sweet. "Let me care for your needs. I know what you like." Her sexual innuendo was blatant. "It has not been so long that I cannot remember what it is you like. How you like to be touched." She lowered her hand to the bulge beneath his loinskin and Storm Dancer jerked from her grasp, disgusted by her attempt to bribe him with her body.
He stepped around the little boy, and ducked through the doorway. "Just do not get in my way, Ta-wa-ne," he shouted over his shoulder. "'Else I will be forced to kill you, woman!"
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rachael lifted a small basket of precious clothing and tucked it under her arm. Waving to Starlight who was busy stitching a new ceremonial medicine robe for Storm Dancer by the warmth of the fire, Rachael stepped out of the wigwam.
She had decided to take advantage of the mild winter day to wash the two men's shirts Starlight had given to her. By the cut of the muslin garments, Rachael knew they were old, but they were still in good shape and she had found them to be quite comfortable when belted and worn with a pair of rabbit skin leggings. The wide beaded belt one of the women had made for her was not only fashionable among the Lenni Lenape, but like all of their articles of clothing, useful as well. In her belt she carried her knife and a small leather pouch, much like the drawstring reticule she once carried. When she went outside, she often carried a small hatchet for cutting kindling as well.
Rachael had to chuckle at the thought of wearing men's pants and shirt, even of the Indian style, but it simply made good sense. She was far more comfortable and far warmer in the leggings and muslin shirts than she ever would have been in the cumbersome, drafty woolen skirts that had once been her winter uniform. The clothing the Indians wore was practical and made Rachael's daily tasks easier.
While staying with the old couple Shaakhan and Starlight, she made herself useful by taking over many of their daily chores. The old couple was satisfied to remain in the warmth of their wigwam, sparing their brittle bones the brunt of the winter wind by letting their daughter-in-law care for them.
The business of tending to Shaakhan and Starlight's needs and running their errands took up most of Rachael's time, for which she was thankful. It gave her less time to think about Storm Dancer . . . less time to have to deal with her feelings. She didn't know how she felt. At one moment she wanted to walk out of the camp to Philadelphia on her own, the next, she wanted to run into his arms and forgive him. Even though she was furious with him, she had to admit if not to him, then to herself, that she missed his touch. She missed his company . . . his subtle sense of humor, his sense of purpose among his mother's people . . . his devotion to her.
It had been nearly two weeks since Ta-wa-ne had appeared in the village shattering the new life Rachael had thought was secure, but it seemed like a lifetime. Ta-wa-ne's trapper came and went, making the village his home base along his trap lines, but the young Indian woman had turned all her attention from the redbeard Malvin to Storm Dancer.
After Ta-wa-ne moved into the wigwam Rachael and Storm had shared, Storm moved out and in with Tuuban. Rachael was of course pleased that he had not remained in the same home with Ta-wa-ne, but that did not absolve him of his wrongdoing.
Storm had made several attempts in the last two weeks to make up to Rachael, but she'd wanted no part of his apologies. He had hurt her deeply and she was scared and confused. She loved her life among the Lenni Lenape. She really didn't want to go back to her way of life in Philadelphia or to the person she had been in Philadelphia. She loved Storm, but she didn't know how to deal with him or the rift between them. Only two days ago he had become enraged when he had invited her to come dine with him and Tuuban and she had refused him. He didn't understand why she was so hurt by his deception; he thought she was being unreasonable. He was angry that there was such vexation in his life at a time when he needed peace and time to contemplate the future of his mother's people that had become his people, and he blamed her.
Rachael suggested that she just needed some time ap
art from him. She also indicated that there would be no truce until Ta-wa-ne was dealt with. If they were divorced, if Rachael was his true wife, than there was not room for the both of them in the village. Rachael detested the woman, not just for what she had been to Storm, but for the person she was now.
Ta-wa-ne was a taker. She spoke with a soft sweet tongue, luring villagers into her confidence to procure things or trust. She made it quite clear to anyone who would listen that Storm Dancer was hers before the white whore had come and that it was she who would be leaving, not Ta-wa-ne. The woman was also a poor mother. She left her little boy crying in the wigwam while she moved from home to home visiting. When she did take him out she was short-tempered and harsh with him. She shouted at him, pulling him along behind her in the snow, forcing him to keep up with his short little baby legs. Ta-wa-ne seemed to have no love for the child and none of the maternal instincts that Rachael assumed all mothers were born with.
Rachael secured her laundry basket under her arm and headed toward the river where she would wash her clothing. Though the sun shone warm on her face, she was thankful for the rabbit fur coat she wore. The morning air was crisp on her cheeks; her breath formed frosty clouds above her head as she exhaled a greeting to a passing friend.
"Good morning to you," Laughing Spider hailed. She carried a baby on her back in a cradleboard and by the hand led a two-year-old that was so bundled up with winter furs that she could barely walk.
"A good morning to you," Rachael answered in Algonquian. She smiled. Laughing Spider was friendly and had been quite helpful to Rachael when she'd first arrived in the camp. She was one of the Lenni Lenape villagers that she considered a true friend.
"You go to the river?" Laughing Spider stopped. Her daughter kept going, watching the trail she made with the stick she was dragging through the snow.
"Some wash to do. If you have any I'd be happy to take care of it. No sense in both of us getting cold hands." Rachael laughed. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Ta-wa-ne dragging her little son behind her. Rachael ignored the woman, keeping her attention on what Laughing Spider was saying.
" . . . I thank you for the offer, friend-Rachael, but I sent my husband to do our washing early this morning. I think he'll not pester me before the morning meal anymore."
The two women laughed at the joke, and Laughing Spider called out for her daughter to wait for her. Laughing Spider indicated with a nod the wigwam where Dory lived. "So has your friend made her decision between her two suitors?"
Rachael grinned. "Not as far as I know."
Laughing Spider nodded. "I would have a difficult time making such a choice were I in such a position." She looked up to check where her toddler was. The little girl, Kiisku had stopped to pet a dog by her aunt's wigwam. "Both men would be good providers. I like them both for different reasons."
"That's what Dory says is making her decision so difficult. She likes them both. She thinks she could love either one given some time."
"With one hand I am envious of her to have two such fine men ask for her hand. But my other hand feels a sorrow for her. Choosing a husband is a hard task for any woman."
"It makes you see the good sense in arranged marriages."
Laughing Spider frowned. "No. Arranged marriages are easy. A man and a woman make no choice. They never feel responsible for each other because they have not made that choice."
Rachael nodded in understanding.
"Well, this woman must go." She looked up in the direction her daughter had gone. She had abandoned the dog and wandered out of sight. "Kiisku! Did your mama not tell you to wait for her?" Laughing Spider gave a wave of farewell to Rachael and hurried to catch up with her toddler.
Rachael had not walked more than a few more feet when Storm Dancer stuck his head out of Tuuban's wigwam. He had to have been watching for her because he was not dressed, yet he called to her. Both his chest and feet were bare.
"A word with you, Rachael."
The sight of Ta-wa-ne a few moments ago had raised her ire. She knew it wasn't fair to take out her anger on Storm Dancer, but she couldn't help herself. "Later. I'm busy."
He stepped out into the snow in his bare feet, rubbing his cold arms. "I'll be but a moment dressing," he called to her in English as she walked by.
"Later," she repeated in Algonquian.
He exhaled angrily and stepped back into the wigwam, dropping the door flap with a loud snap of leather.
Rachael continued on to the river. At the bank, she found a washing hole that had already been used that morning so she didn't have to break ice. The Metuksik River was funny. In some places the ice was a good foot and a half thick, but only a few feet away, it might be paper thin.
Rachael knelt and pulled off her mittens. Taking a shirt, she dipped it into the icy water and swished it vigorously. The water was so cold that in a moment's time, her hands were too numb to feel the bite of the icy water.
Just as Rachael began to ring out the second shirt, she heard a giggle. She looked up to see the little boy that belonged to Ta-wa-ne walking out across the river. He clapped and laughed as he chased a feather blowing in the wind. The child's mother was nowhere to be seen.
"Maata!" Rachael called out instinctively. "Maata ilauishit! The ice isn't safe!"
The child stopped and looked in the direction of the adult voice. When he spotted Rachael, he grinned innocently. The feather fluttered again catching his attention and he ran, reaching out with a mitten-covered hand to try and catch it.
Rachael dropped her wet shirt into the snow and stood up, glancing around. No one was to be seen. She looked back at the little boy who was straying farther and farther toward the middle of the river where the ice was at its thinnest.
"Maata," she shouted again, waving her hands.
Again, the little boy stopped, a big smile dimpling the rosy red apples of his chubby cheeks.
Rachael walked well around the hole that had been cut in the ice for washing and stepped cautiously down onto the frozen riverbed.
She held out her arms to the little boy. "Buumska," she urged. "Come to Rachael."
He turned toward her.
"That's right." Rachael smiled and he smiled back. She took a step and he took one.
"Good, good," she called. "Come on, come to Rachael like a good boy and I'll find you a new feather—something even better." She took another step and the ice groaned beneath her. Rachael quickly spread her feet and lowered her body closer to the ice to redistribute her weight as Storm had taught her.
The little boy stopped coming toward her and squatted, mimicking her.
"Maata! No," she called. She held out her arms to him again. The ice groaned and a crack zigzagged its way past her. She wasn't going to be able to get to him. The little boy would have to come to her. "Come to Rachael!"
After a moment's hesitation he giggled, clapping his mittens together and started toward her again.
"That's right, that's right," she coaxed gently. "Come to Rachael and I'll give you a present. A few more steps and she would be able to reach him . . .
The little boy stopped and started again twice more, but finally he made it within arm's length of Rachael. She reached out and swept him into her arms. He wrapped his arms around her neck and hung on, smiling up at her as she slowly made her way back to the safety of the riverbank.
When Rachael felt the solid footing of the snowy ground beneath her knee-high moccasins she gave an audible sigh of relief. She hugged the little boy tightly, forgetting that he was her enemy's child, forgetting that he might well be the son of her husband's first marriage. All he was to her was a precious tot who was safe from imminent danger.
Rachael lifted him over her head and he squealed with laugher. She smiled up at him, thankful he was safe, no matter whose child he was. "What's your name?" she entreated softly. "Tell Rachael what your name is and why you're out here all alone. Where's your mama?"
He was busy playing with the soft rabbit fur of her h
at, blowing on the fur and laughing.
Rachael lowered him in her arms, tucking his legs around her waist so that she could get his attention. She touched her chest lightly. "Rachael. My name is Rachael." She tapped him on the chest. "What's your name?"
"Wa-chael," he said.
She laughed. "Rachael, that's right. What a smart boy!" She touched him again. "But what's your name? What's my smart, brave little boy's name?"
He hit himself with a fist in a great exaggerated manly gesture. "Ka-we-ras!"
"Ka-we-ras, oh, I like that name." She shifted him onto her hip. "Well, let's go find your mama, Ka-we-ras. I know she must be looking for you. You mustn't run off, else your mama will be very sad." Rachael spoke to the boy in Algonquian and though the child didn't know the language, it didn't seem to matter.
Still holding the toddler, she retrieved her clothing, threw it into her basket. Her fingers were so numb that she had a difficult time getting her mittens on while holding the boy, but she managed.
With the boy balanced securely on one hip and the basket of wet clothing on the other, Rachael started down the path back to the village. While walking she pointed a cardinal out to Ka-we-ras and then a rabbit hopping through the drifting snow. She told him the names of the rabbit and bird in Algonquian and he mimicked her words making them both laugh.
When Rachael reached the village, she left her basket by Starlight and Shaakhan's wigwam and headed toward the one she and Storm had shared so happily since their arrival in the Lenni Lenape Village. At the wigwam, she tried to put the boy down so that she could push him inside without having to actually encounter Ta-wa-ne but the toddler refused to let go of Rachael. He tightened his arms around her neck and whimpered when she tried to put him down.
Finally with an exasperated sigh, Rachael called out to her husband's first wife. When Ta-wa-ne made no response on the second call Rachael pushed back the flap to see that no one was in. "Your mama must be looking for you, Ka-we-ras. She's not here."
Savage Surrender Page 24