Lord of the Wilderness Page 21

  Juliet laughed.

  “During the New York and New Jersey campaigns, General Washington asked me to scout the New York frontier. During this time, the British launched a major campaign to secure the Hudson River Valley. I did reconnaissance for General Horatio Gates at the headwaters where the British General ‘Gentleman Johnny’ was defeated.”

  Juliet pulled her loose hair back and braided it. “The Patriots have had remarkable successes. You are dizzily convincing, Lord Faulkner.” She gave a knowing smile, emphasizing his title, like he had hers, and pointing out how he had hidden the fact of his nobility.

  Joshua dug his paddle where the current ran strong. “I have faith in the Colonies. We Patriots are like tiny bees that fly around the head of a great giant. We are but a little annoyance, even if we sting, at which time the hand of the giant might slap and crush us. But every now and then,” he added, “the poison of the tiny bee’s sting becomes deadlier than the bite of a rattlesnake and he who is stung dies.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A week later they came to the mouth of a river branch, and they descended into an azure lake. In the distance, smoke curled to the sky, and a short break inland lay a settlement.

  Two Eagles paddled harder, the pleasure and breathless haste of seeing his home spurring him on. Edmund’s eyes rounded, suddenly alert, and Joshua, too sat in awe. Mary stayed reticent, looking to Two Eagles who beamed with pride and excitement.

  “We will be protected here by the Oneidas who are loyal to the Patriots and also it being the home of Two Eagles,” Joshua said.

  Onuaga, was no insignificant Indian village. It sprawled at the edge of the forest, and like sentinels, tall trees of maple, ash, poplar and beech loomed up behind. Between the village and the lake were fields of rich black earth, cleared of underbrush, all worked and partially planted.

  Bark canoes lined the shore. With dogs yapping at their heels, boys ran along the river’s edge, hailing Two Eagles and Joshua, curious of the newcomers.

  The boys helped them pull their canoes ashore, staring at Juliet and Mary. They gawked and pointed at Edmund, apparently noticing the similarity between Two Eagles and his twin.

  Men dressed in breechclouts approached, followed by naked children. Women with necklaces and ear piercings festooned with shells, rushed forward topless, their breasts browned by the warm sun. Juliet colored fiercely at their blatant nudity.

  They were led near a row of numerous longhouses, with sporadic holes in the roofs where streams of smoke rose. Over each door hung a carved head of a bear, symbolizing the magnitude of the famed Bear Clan.

  Two Eagles was important in the village. No one entered his presence lightly. Here, Two Eagles had no time for trivial things. Even Mary was awed and subdued by the veneration poured on him by the villagers.

  A hide was thrown back and they were led into a longhouse. Juliet blinked, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Fantastic ceremonial masks suspended from bed poles along a series of fur-swathed bunks constructed against the walls. On shelves above, wooden bowls, ladles, dishes, spoons, baskets, and clay pots were placed. Snowshoes, hunting bows, quivers of arrows and braids of corn hung from rafters.

  Two Eagles sat on the ground next to a fire. A bowl of corn mush was handed to him. He gestured for Juliet, Joshua, Mary and his brother to sit. Two Eagles gestured to Mary and spoke in his guttural language for the rest of the Indians to hear. They all nodded and smiled. Women patted Mary’s hair. She blushed from the attention.

  A woman handed him a pipe. He took tobacco and filled the pipe. The woman took the pipe to the fire and laid a hot coal on top of the bowl, and then handed it back to Two Eagles.

  Two Eagles puffed on the pipe, and then handed it to Joshua, who puffed, then handed it to the other braves. The room was quiet. After a period of waiting, Two Eagles spoke.

  Joshua leaned over to Juliet and translated. “This is part of a returning ceremony where our story is told. He is telling of his long-lost brother returned and our escape from Fort Oswego. He is informing them that their continued support for the Patriots is good. The King’s men do not keep their promises.”

  The crowd murmured and parted, allowing in, out of deference, an older woman who had many winters on her head, yet still beautiful with few wrinkles. She wore a blue skirt and bright red leggings made of broadcloth, embroidered with elaborate bead designs. A calico over-dress was fastened down the front with a row of shining silver brooches; silver earrings dangled from her ears, and her face gleamed with gentleness. The woman, an exact image of Ojistah moved through the throng with grace, her silver braids hanging down beside her cheeks.

  For Juliet, Ojistah’s prediction of seeing her twin came true.

  The woman focused on Edmund.

  Two Eagles stood. “This is our mother, Waneek.”

  Edmund staggered to his feet, stared at Waneek.

  Juliet perceived his hesitation, his attempt to wring from the unknown where there were no assurances and no straight lines, and governed by fear of judgement and rejection. He had left his old world behind, banking on this one moment where there were no guarantees, and like a lost soul wandering in the dark, he sought confirmation and consolation.

  A myriad of emotions crossed Edmund’s face.

  “You think a mother cannot recognize her own son,” Waneek reproved Two Eagles in stilted English, her eyes not once leaving Edmund. “I, at all times, knew you were alive. Sensed it in my bones. I named you, ‘Deganwida’.”

  “Deganwida,” repeated Edmund. He glanced at Two Eagles, and then back to his mother, a look of yearning so deep, Juliet could feel the force of it in her heart.

  “There is much power in your name,” said Waneek. “It means two river currents flowing together.”

  Edmund took a tentative step toward his mother. The crowd stared, stirred by the tableau playing out in front of them.

  Waneek moved closer. “Every morning, I woke and I told you how much I loved you. Many moons passed and the love I held for you grew and grew, nearer and dearer to my heart, each day, each year.”

  Waneek touched his face, his shoulder, his arm. “If I had to choose between loving you and breathing, I would use my last breath to tell you…I love you.”

  She lifted her trembling arms and Edmund fell into them.

  Tears came to Juliet’s eyes as Edmund wrapped his larger arms around his mother, absorbing the cruel and lonely years, of the longing to hear a mother’s loving voice, to feel a mother’s hand upon his hair, to see her sweet smile—tokens of a mother’s love he’d been denied. Amidst the joyful shout of villagers with the reunion of Deganwida and his mother, Juliet could not help but be a little envious.

  Edmund was home at last.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  There were three hundred Indians, including a number of Mohawks in Two Eagles’ settlement. The difference between his village and Ojistah’s Mohawk village emerged as a collection of smaller houses built of squared-up logs and stone chimneys. At the west end were larger, finely built log homes with glass window panes and ample furnishings that took on the structure of an upper middle-class family in Europe. The largest of these domiciles belonged to Two Eagles.

  “It’s a good house,” Two Eagles said to Mary. “It doesn’t shake when storms rage, and will not blow over with the slightest wind.” He pounded the wall to emphasize his point and to call attention to the criticism Mary had made during their travels regarding his living in a primitive structure that trembled with the slightest breeze.

  Mary turned a bright shade of red. “I hope you can forgive me for my rude comment.”

  A fine dinner was prepared by servants, and Juliet learned that in the Mohawk Valley, Two Eagles had grown up with German, Scotch, English and Irish immigrants, making him comfortable with the European culture.

  Waneek passed a bowl of squash. “As neighbors, we have to depend on each other for survival, resulting in a sharing of customs and traditions. Two Eagles and I speak th
ree languages and have become Christians.”

  Mary set down her fork, staring at Two Eagles. “You are Christian?”

  “You find it difficult to believe a savage can be Christian?” he replied.

  A scarlet flush crept across her cheeks. “How could I have—”

  “Assumptions grow firm as weeds among stones and are not so easily dislodged. We are not so different, Mary…you and I.”

  Juliet understood the deeper tones of Two Eagles’ voice, where he’d existed in a world built of prejudices and arrogance. Mary had indeed outgrown her naïve childishness and preconception.

  “Two Eagles is very educated,” added Waneek proudly, her silver armbands tinkling. “My older daughter is married to Sir Jensen. He took an interest in Two Eagles and supported his English-style education at Moor’s Indian Charity School and later at Kings College in New York City where he pursued an interest in law.”

  Mary gawked at Two Eagles. “What else have you been keeping from me?”

  “I have studied law,” said Edmund, marveling at his brother. “Strange how we both enjoy the same things. I want to learn everything of what you do and everything of the homeland of my ancestors.”

  After dinner, they retired to the coolness of the porch and Waneek brought out two rifles. “Now for the entertainment. Joshua and Two Eagles will have a competition.”

  A circular target of ten feathers was fastened to a tree.

  Juliet stood on tiptoes to see over the villagers crowding to see the legendary Joshua. Two Eagles pointed at the bright red feather then aimed his gun and fired. The trunk exploded an inch above the target.

  “I will knock the tip off the third feather.” Joshua sighted down the barrel, took aim. The tip exploded off the feather.

  Two Eagles hit the feather beneath. The villagers murmured their approval, oohing and pointing as each man took turns, demonstrating their prowess. Two Eagles’ shots were close, but Joshua hit the tips off every feather. Breathless, Juliet bumped shoulders with Mary.

  Joshua glanced to her and her pulse raced. “I’m going to hit the center of the target.” He aimed and fired. A warrior took the target off and wiggled his finger through the hole in the exact center. Everyone hooted. Joshua and Two Eagles rejoined Juliet and Mary on the porch.

  Two Eagles motioned to Mary. “Come with me. I wish to show you something.”

  The dong, dong sound of heavy blows repeated in quick succession boomed across the village. In front of one of the lodges, Two Eagles and Mary passed three Indian women pounding corn in hollowed out oak logs with heavy wooden pestles.

  “Be careful of Big Beast,” called Waneek, smiling.

  Two Eagles held up his hand to silence his mother. To this, several women in the village within hearing distance giggled, their knowing gazes following the couple who vanished in the woods.

  From beneath her shawl, Waneek handed two packets to Joshua. “These arrived for you weeks ago.” She returned inside to talk with Edmund.

  “What is Big Beast?” said Juliet.

  “Big Beast is a mythical behemoth who gathers up two lovers and smothers them in his giant breasts,” he said without looking at her.

  Opening one of the letters, Joshua moved off the porch and out of sight. A private moment with news from home? No, she knew better. With each passing day since their escape from the fort, he’d grown more withdrawn. More distant. During the trip she had seen many of his moods—of anger, of heaving edginess, of festering disturbances and, yes, of great tenderness vibrating on the verge of something profound. Yet during the last days, he’d become pensive, his mood swings gone, as if he’d won a battle within and found some great resolve. What she saw now she had at no time seen before. Indifference. Cold, uncaring indifference.

  Her insides trembling, she reached for the porch rail. Gulped for air. In loving him, she had vowed to tolerate anything he chose to be, but among his choices she had not counted indifference. Oh, God. She closed her eyes and drew her arms into her stomach. He truly did not care.

  Her heart shattered, she fled, and like the walking dead, she meandered aimlessly through the village. Contrary to her despair, the sky was an extraordinary blue, giving way to a beautiful day. A group of boys shouted and cheered playing a game with a leather ball and scooping it up with wooden nets. The Indian women smiled and greeted her as she passed and suddenly the world faded away. She was in England, could smell the apple blossoms, roses, and lavender. She could sip tea, eat lemon tarts and marzipan and listen to sweet violin music. And yet a sour taste yielded in her mouth. There was nothing for her in England.

  Infected by Joshua’s enthusiasm for the Patriot cause made her rethink where she would go. Boston emerged a stronghold in Patriot hands and, at once, she entertained working there as a midwife.

  She followed a path through the woods, her meager companions, gray mourning doves, their woeful cooing increasing her melancholy. Hearing voices, she peered through thick hemlock boughs into a bright green meadow. Two Eagles and Mary. She shouldn’t spy on her friend but her legs were like stiff boards nailed together with iron hinges watching Mary’s great delight in picking a bouquet of flowers.

  “Are you happy, Mary?” asked Two Eagles.

  “How can I not be? The sky is blue and there is the yellow of the buttercups and yarrow, the pink of the mallow, and brilliant black-eyed Susans are everywhere.”

  “The Great Spirit is happy, too. He made the beautiful world with his hands and took pleasure in its beauty,” said Two Eagles, and then he stared at Mary with well-intended meaning.

  The tall warrior plucked a cornflower from her bouquet and held it up to the side of her head. “The blue is like your eyes.”

  “Two Eagles, I would love to have children to run through this field of color. Your children,” Mary said gazing up to him. Two Eagles returned the same loving look with all the adoration of the world caught on his face.

  He kneeled, dug through the loam and came up with a plucked root. He mashed the tuber, staining his palm a bright scarlet. He extended his hand to Mary. “When you shake the hand of a warrior whose hand is marked with the red stain of bloodroot, it means you will marry him.”

  Mary reached a trembling hand and placed it solidly in his. Two Eagles gathered her into his arms and with infinite gentleness, kissed her tenderly.

  Juliet pivoted and shook her head. No. Mary couldn’t desert her just like that, could she? They had come so far together. She had assumed Mary would be a permanent fixture in her life. But as much as she wanted Mary with her, she wanted Mary’s happiness even more. In the white man’s world, Mary would be scorned if her scandalous background was revealed. In Two Eagles’ eyes, she stood revered. Mary would find happiness in her new world and Juliet would be happy for her friend…even though she herself would be alone.

  Whether Juliet journeyed to Boston or to England, Mary would not be a part of her future. Her chest hitched. To be entirely alone? The grim reality slammed into her full force. Everyone made choices. She would not hold Mary accountable to her decision to accompany her. She loved her too much.

  Still thinking, meandering, her feet leaden with her new reality, she plodded through the woods and back to the village. She came upon Waneek whom Juliet had learned was the tribe’s Clan Mother, a significant ruling sovereign in the tribe, wielding great power. Her husband, the chief, had died of measles, or the white man’s plague. In addition to treating both whites and Indians with her prodigious medical skills, she earned her living by collecting ginseng and selling the valuable medical herb to traders.

  Waneek instructed a young girl who was making a clay pot, and did not look up when Juliet approached, yet she had a clear feeling the old sachem knew she was there the entire the time.

  “The soil is black and rich. A plant is nourished by the soil it feeds on, by the winds that blow, the rains that fall and the sun that shines. Like a little white flower that has put her roots down deep, Mary is taking her nourishment and strength
from the same sun, rain and wind that gives her life. To transplant her again, she would wither and die.”

  “Waneek, Mary has been my friend forever. I would not stand in the way of her happiness even if it means—losing her.”

  “Two Eagles has claimed Mary and she has claimed him. A wedding will be soon.”

  “You might be right,” Juliet said, not wanting to reveal she had spied on Mary and Two Eagles.

  “I am always right.”

  Waneek’s remark struck Juliet as prophetically strange, like her twin sister, Ojistah.

  Thinking of Ojistah’s words, Juliet watched the girl’s dark fingers work at clay coils, round and round she twisted slender ropes of clay, overlapping the ropes until the crude shape of a pot formed.

  “It takes time to make a clay pot,” said Waneek.

  The Indian girl did not raise her head. She smoothed the unevenness away and scraped the sides smooth with a piece of broken gourd.

  “It looks easy to make a pot.” Juliet kept watching, fascinated with the girl’s handiwork. A small girl with a faceless cornhusk doll clutched to her chest sat next to the girl making the pot.

  “Ohe!” Waneek laughed. “Making a pot is not so easy. It takes time and patience. We pray over Mother Earth for permission to remove the clay from the banks of the river bed. The clay is spread on a stone slab and beat with hands and feet. When the clay is soft and smooth, it must be mixed with ground clam shells and mica and be beaten smooth again. All this before the coils are rolled. The pot will break if forbearance is not used.”

  Waneek’s voice came as gentle as the south wind. “Like men with wounds, they are healed by degrees. Patience and perseverance have a miraculous effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.”