by Terra Wolf
She rounded the front of the car and hooked her arm with her father’s just as a familiar vehicle caught her eye by the corner of the council hall – Karen Talbot was there.
She hadn’t seen the woman she once called mother in over six months. Maggie wasn’t looking forward to breaking that streak.
“Welcome, Maggie Light Foot,” Richard White Eagle said as she approached the council. The full tribal council was not present tonight. Though the full Tribal Council consisted of several members of the Talbot family, most of the true council were not bears. This event was for the shifters and their kin, alone.
“Thank you, Chief,” Maggie said, bowing her head to her uncle. Every seat at the table was full tonight – Richard White Eagle sat at its center, his younger brother, Paul Talbot, at his right side. The rest of the council consisted of three of her male cousins, Robert, Graham, and Paul, Jr. Maggie offered each of them a nod, making sure to greet them in order of importance. It felt almost strange to offer deference to her baby cousin, Paul, Jr. She could remember changing the young man’s diapers.
The doors to the council hall creaked as an unfamiliar pair entered the hall – a middle aged woman with short brown hair and a massive man, his face shielded by a full gray beard.
“The Fenns should all arrive within the hour. Then we will enjoy a hunt together before celebrating with a proper feast,” Richard said, gesturing for Uncle Paul to greet the guests.
Maggie watched the massive man by the door – Patrick Fenn. She’d seen him around, a man her father spoke well of, but seeing him now, knowing that they were mere moments from this beast of a man joining her for a ‘hunt’ made him unnerving.
“A hunt?” Maynard asked, his voice catching in his throat.
Richard turned his gaze to his older brother. “Yes? It is customary for the betrothed couple to hunt together as a declaration -”
“The couple, yes, but are they not to hunt alone?”
Richard shot a glance over his shoulder. Maggie followed his gaze to Karen Talbot, her once adopted mother. Maggie’s stomach twisted, instantly. Had Karen told them her secret? Was that why Chief White Eagle intended to join them on their first hunt together.
Richard cleared his throat. “I know it is customary for the couple -”
“It is tradition!” Maynard said, his volume rising.
“- but given this marriage is the first to join the Talbot and Fenn clans, I feel it would benefit both families if the hunt include myself, as well as the Fenn chief. You may refrain if you so wish, brother.”
“Does the father not have a say?”
Maynard was growing more agitated by the moment, and the tension was spreading throughout the place as everyone present began to fidget and murmur uncomfortably.
They continued to argue, even Richard’s sons now murmuring in discomfort at his side.
“Brother, why does this trouble you so?” Paul asked, leaning into the table as though beseeching his older brother to be calm. Maggie felt her blood boiling and her heart racing. Speaking out against Chief White Eagle just wasn’t done. The man had a reputation that carried well off the reservation, a reputation that was well earned. He’d challenged all of his older brothers to become chief, and only Paul accepted the challenge and walked away.
Maggie heard Maynard speak of Uncle Ted more than once – the oldest of the Talbot brothers and the man intended to be chief. He died from his wounds after accepting Richard’s challenge. Maynard had refused to fight.
Both men’s voices began to rise, Richard shifting in his chair as though he might stand up. Maggie reached for her father’s arm, squeezing it, trying to assuage him from pressing further. What could they do? Someone was bound to find out one day? Spare the poor man intended to be her groom, just don’t anger Chief.
“Papa,” she said, as softly as she could.
“Speak, brother. Do you wish to resolve this in word or in -?”
“No!” Maggie said, loud enough to startle the entire room. She wouldn’t let Richard finish that sentence. She wouldn’t let him challenge her father here. Challenging him in front of the entire Talbot clan would leave him no choice but to fight, and Maynard Keeps His Word could not beat Richard White Eagle in a Kalmud.
And they both knew it.
“What do you have to say, Maggie Light Foot?” Richard asked, his tone softening in a strange, satisfied way.
Maggie swallowed. “It is resolved. There is no need to fight.”
“And why do you say that?”
Maggie swallowed. “Because I refuse the match.”
The entire hall became electric, people hissing their surprise to one another, watching her with wary eyes, as though she were some lit explosive about to go off. Patrick Fenn’s eyes were trained on her, the woman at his side offering a sad, but sympathetic smile.
“You do what?” Richard asked, half laughing at how incredulous such a notion was to him.
“I refuse the match. I won’t marry him.”
Richard stood from the table, rounding the edge to approach her just as Maynard grabbed her arm, whispering his pleas. ‘Don’t do this,’ he said. ‘We’ll find a way, just don’t do this.’
“Margaret Light Foot Talbot, you were welcomed into this family and as such, you are expected to show fealty to your clan.”
“And I do, but I am not a prize heifer, Chief White Eagle. I will not be sold.”
The gasps grew louder, more agitated and nervous.
“You will do as is expected. Or you will not call yourself a Talbot. Are you prepared to accept the consequences of this decision?”
She startled. She’d never expected him to relent so quickly. Maggie took a shaking breath and nodded. Yes, she was.
Exile. Severance from all that she knew and loved, or watch her father get dragged into a Kalmud with their chief – or worse, they’d learn her secret. That couldn’t happen. No Kalmud could settle the lie. She’d accept homelessness before she’d watch her father punished for something as innocent as truly loving his child.
Richard stood over her, his tan skin taking on a burgundy hue as his temper flared. “You bring shame upon your family, child.”
Maggie bowed her head, turning back to direct her words toward the Fenns. “I am truly sorry. I take all shame upon myself.”
Richard leaned in, drawing close to her ear. Despite speaking for her alone, the entire room could hear his word. “You are banished from this land. Do not show your face here, again.”
Maynard ruptured in grief, crying out in protest, reaching for his brother to beseech or hurt him, whichever would do most good, but hands had taken hold of Maggie’s arms, pulling her away from them as her cousins Graham and Robert led her away. She yanked her sleeves free of their grip and turned for the door. She glanced back to her father, frowning to see him in such grief, clutching Richard’s shirt as he begged him to reconsider. Maggie caught sight of another frowning face beyond them – the woman she once called her mother. Maggie glared at the woman a moment, making sure Karen Talbot met her stare. Maggie wanted to burn a hole through her right there and then. If she was going to be banished – if she was never going to see this woman again, she would let her eyes speak for her.
Then she turned for the hall door and stormed out into the rain.
Five
“Wait, what?”
Deacon sat on the end of the phone, holding his breath as Carissa took in the news.
“You’re kidding, right?” She asked.
“No,” he said, swallowing.
Carissa took a deep breath on the other line. “You know, of all the lines of bull shit I’ve heard over the years, this one is by far the most pathetic.”
“Oh, Car. I swear to you, that’s not what this is. I’m trying to figure out a way to call it off, but I just – I haven’t quite got a handle – I’m hoping once I get there and meet her, I can convince her -”
“Don’t bother, Deedee. Just don’t bother. I hope you’ll be very happy toge
ther.”
“Carissa! Don’t say that!”
Carissa muttered to herself on the other end of the line, fuming and swearing under her breath. Then the line went dead.
Deacon sat there on his porch, listening to an autumn breeze blow through the trees as his chest grew tight. The conversation had gone just as poorly as he’d expected.
He took a breath, pulled up her contact information, and lifted the phone back up to his ear just as John’s truck pulled into the driveway.
Come on, Carissa. Pick up, he thought.
The call went straight to voicemail.
“Here comes the bride, brother.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Deacon said, barely audible.
John heard it, nonetheless. “Didn’t go over well with the Missus, I take it?”
Deacon swallowed hard. He wanted John to go away. He wanted everyone to go away – leave him alone for a god damn minute so he could try to straighten out his life.
He felt as though he’d been trying to do just that for eight months. He hadn’t had any luck yet.
“Well, come on, then. We don’t want you to be late.”
Deacon rose from his front steps, and he and John climbed into Deacon’s SUV, John quickly plugging his phone into the radio to blare Zeppelin through the speakers. Deacon wasn’t wholly in the mood to blare classic rock, but perhaps Zeppelin was better than having to speak. It wasn’t John. Deacon loved John, and if there was anyone in the world he could share his thoughts with, it was him. He just didn’t want to talk to anyone. Save for maybe Carissa, if she’d let him get a word out.
“Christ, I hope she’s nice,” Deacon said.
John patted him on the shoulder, laughing. “You resigning yourself to it, then?”
Deacon shook his head. “No. I’m still planning to try to talk her out of it.”
“Really? What if she’s the one, though?”
Deacon snorted. “Shut up.”
“Hey, I’m just sayin. You want a fated mate, it doesn’t get much more fated than someone arranging a marriage for you. I mean, Jesus.”
They drove toward Falkirk’s Harbor, In The Evening blasting from the speakers as they reached the far gate of the Fenn property. It was wide open. They both shot each other a startled look to see it so.
The reservation was a quiet place, very few houses along the outskirts of the land. Yet trailer homes and old shacks betrayed their growing close the center of the rez. Deacon drove these roads many times, either as an aimless teenager, or answering calls as an EMT. He silently contemplated calling Lara, his old work mate, and seeing if the Machias Medical Center still had any EMT openings. It didn’t sound like Carissa was inviting him back south anytime soon.
Don’t think like that, Deacon. Get this shit squared away, and then call her back. It’ll be alright. It’s all going to be alright.
An impromptu parking lot was set into one of the fields surrounding the council building, the parking area filled to capacity with cars. Patrick’s truck was there, as was his mother’s Hyundai.
“Jesus, Mum’s here?”
John smacked his shoulder again as Deacon pulled into an empty space in the field. “You think she’d miss this? Hell no!”
They climbed out of the car and both stopped. The energy of the place was strange, and the smell was almost offensive. Only bears would be able to smell each other, and the air was filled with their familiar scent, but something else permeated the very walls of the council building. As Deacon and John approached, the doors to the building burst open, and a woman with long black hair came barreling out, shrugging into a jean jacket as she stormed away. In the instant that the doors opened, the smell of conflict and agitation rushed from within.
Deacon shot John a look. “What the hell is going on?”
Deacon glanced back at the agitated woman, watching her disappear behind the cars, as the rain began to kick up. Then he followed his brother inside.
“Is it so easy for the Talbots to step away from an agreement like this?” Patrick asked, pointing at the feet of Richard White Eagle.
There were dozens of faces all around, their darks eyes turned to the floor in many cases, save for the few that stood at Richard’s shoulders – his sons.
“We have other eligible females -”
“But not bears. I worked damn hard with you, Richard. Damn hard. You hold up your end of the bargain or no deal,” Patrick said.
Deacon’s heart leapt. The marriage might be cancelled? Holy shit! He wouldn’t even have to convince his betrothed against the idea; he would be free. Deacon glanced around the room at the faces of the many females gathered there. He couldn’t help but wonder which of these women had been his intended.
Richard White Eagle puffed up his chest, but it was clear he knew himself in the wrong. “We cannot speak on it here, but perhaps we can discuss a suitable alternative when the tempest has passed.”
Patrick straightened. “A suitable alternative? Explain to me how you intend to offer a suitable alternative.”
Deacon felt someone squeeze his arm and turned to find his mother Janice at his shoulder. “Hey honey. Why don’t you head back home?”
Deacon startled at this. Her tone was strange, as though she passed vital information to the communists in the middle of a White House dinner. “What? Why? What’s going on?”
Janice Fenn stuck out like a sore thumb in the council hall. Her light brown hair was shorn short, and her face was pale as a cloud compared to the native faces around them. Though many of the tribe had married outside the rez, lightening hair and skin in many families, the Talbots had long refused to marry anyone outside the tribe, and they looked no different than their ancestors.
Janice squeezed again. “In case it gets out of hand here, I need you to be elsewhere.”
“Out of hand? No, Mom. I’m not leaving.”
One of Richard White Eagle’s sons stepped forward as John took his own place at Patrick’s shoulder.
“What the hell is going on?” Deacon asked.
Janice took a deep breath. “Oh, a pissing contest. Naturally.”
Patrick’s voice doubled in volume suddenly, echoing off the walls with enough power to make the entire room recoil. “You have three days to sign the deeded land back over to me, or you’ll have trouble on your hands. Do I make myself clear, Richard?”
With that, Patrick Fenn turned for the door of the council hall with John at his shoulder. Deacon turned toward the door as much to get out of his grandfather’s path as to leave. Patrick didn’t speak as he plowed out of the doors and out into the cool autumn evening. He stormed around the corner of the building, handing John his keys.
“Drive my truck home, will you? I’m going to ride with Deacon.”
John agreed before Deacon could protest. He loved his grandfather, but the thought of being trapped in the tiny space of his car with the man in his current mood was about as welcome as a hangnail.
Deacon shot his mother an almost pleading look, but she just shook her head, climbing into her own Sante Fe. Deacon watched Patrick squeeze into the passenger seat of his SUV and wait for Deacon to drive. He could only imagine what was coming.
“I’m sorry that this fell through, son.”
Deacon snorted softly. Seriously? He was apologizing? “Gramps, I’m relieved. Honestly.”
Patrick shook his head, turning down the radio as the trailer homes and shacks grew scarce toward the outer edges of the rez. “They won’t give me a decent explanation for calling it off.”
“Seriously, Gramps. It’s for the best. There hasn’t been an arranged marriage in this family since -”
Deacon stopped. Generations? Decades?
No. The last arranged marriage in the Fenn family was that of Patrick Fenn to his wife, Laurel – Laurel Long tooth Allen.
Patrick scoffed, softly. “You talk like they’re indentured servitude.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
Patrick shook his head. “I wasn’t k
een on the idea when my father sprung it on me, either, but I went through with it because it was what was best for the clan.”
“But you didn’t marry a Talbot.”
“No. I married an Allen. And I married the last Allen to ever live. And I miss her every god damn day.”
The Allen clan had been as old as the Talbots, older than the Fenns. They’d come from further west and intermarried with Talbots to insure their bloodline continued. When the Allen name had all but died, their last living daughter was married to a Fenn, causing a rift between the Talbots and Fenns that was still felt in the council hall that very evening.
Grammy Fenn had died before Deacon was born, bleeding to death during complications while giving birth to her youngest child, Alison Fenn.
“I know it was asking a great deal of you, but I made the decision for more than just the Fenns. I made it for you. I know you can’t understand that, but you haven’t known the kind of love I’ve known. I loved your Grandmother from the moment I laid eyes on her. She was it from the day she was born until long after the day she died. I wanted that for you. I wanted you to have that kind of love.”
“And you thought you were better equipped to pick the girl for me?”
“No, but I thought fate might.”
Deacon didn’t respond. They let the silence pass, Deacon catching a glimpse of raindrops on the windshield as they pulled up to the Fenn gate.
“I can’t let the Allen line die, son. Her name might be gone, but she lives in every one of you kids. I can’t live forever, and who knows how many of your children will be bears?”
Deacon took a breath, but didn’t speak. His grandfather’s tone was softening in a manner he’d never witnessed before. Patrick so rarely spoke of Grammy Fenn. They had three children together, Grammy Fenn wanting desperately to have as many girls as she could – girls who would give birth to more bears. She got two girls, though she didn’t survive to see the second one grow up.
