by Mike Rhynard
“Tatanka.”
“Yes. It protects Isna from enemy arrows and spears. And here”—he laid it flat so she could better see the painted figures—“ this is the great bear . . . tah-blo-kah, the Four-Legged-Warrior.”
“ Tabloka.”
He nodded. “Now see here where the little white fawn walks beside him . . . and here walk the many brown fawns and white fawns. And then one brown fawn that turns into the old woman who carries Isna’s pipe and wears the two black stones around her neck.” He slid his hand further to his left. “And here a new white fawn stands beside the old woman, but then the old woman vanishes along with the black stones and the pipe. And here the little white fawn grows into a white mother blacktail with a little white girl fawn of her own. And here the stones and the pipe reappear around the neck of this last white fawn, and that is the end of the vision. It is Isna’s vision and”—he looked into her eyes—“ Emily’s dream. And Isna now knows what some of it means.”
Her wide, shining blue eyes stared deeply into his, waited for him to speak.
“Grizzly is Isna’s spirit creature, and his soul is in Isna’s; he and Isna are one in this vision . . . and Emily . . . is the little white fawn who walks beside Isna. Wakan Tanka has told Isna this . . . and he has also told Emily . . . in her dream.”
Volleys of chills raced down Emily’s back. “Isna, it must be so. Isna and Emily are bound together; Emily’s heart tells her so; and nothing in her life has felt more right, more true, more natural.”
“It is the same for Isna, my little white fawn.”
They leaned slowly together, joined their lips in a soft, lengthy kiss, pressed their bodies together until, after a long moment, Isna whispered, “Of the little white fawn, Isna is certain, but he knows not the meaning of the other fawns or the rest of the vision. But perhaps . . . perhaps the many brown and white fawns are . . . are . . .”
Emily said, “are the children of Isna and his little white fawn . . . and their children . . . and their children . . . for many generations.”
He held her by the shoulders, again stared into her eyes. “ Isna prays to Wakan Tanka that it is so.”
“As does the little white fawn.” She laid her head on his chest. “But, Isna, how can this ever be? Isna is Lakota and must return to his people. And Emily is English and must be with her people, her family, her father, her mother, and brother . . . and her religion. Isna cannot stay, and Emily cannot leave. And she cannot ask Isna to stay.”
“As Isna cannot ask Emily to leave.”
“And Emily’s heart is now heavy with the sadness of knowing it can never be as both of us wish it to be or as the vision and dream have foretold. Oh, Isna, we are one day to know the great sadness of parting, but . . .”
“but for now, let us live.”
“And love each other fully until that day when . . .”
“when we must part.”
“But we shall always remember each other, always love one another. Oh, Isna, Emily loves you so.” She pulled him close, trembled as she held him with all her strength. ’Tis so meant to be, yet so impossible to be. As deep is my love, so complete will be my anguish and pain when we part. Oh, Mother, what am I do?
Isna slowly eased away, again turned his back to her, knelt while he did something with the leather bundle that sat beside his shield. Emily stood, leaned sideways to see what he was doing, but he sensed her impatience and turned his body to block her view. Suddenly he turned, held up a light tan doeskin dress with a three-inch-wide band of intricate red, blue, and yellow designs across the top of the shoulders and down the arms to the elbows; three parallel, stacked, horizontal rows of twelve small sea shells each across the chest; and a hem and cuffs of six-inch-long fringes.
Emily’s eyes bloomed like brilliant blue flowers; her lips spread into a broad smile; her eyes darted from the colorful bands to the shells, to the long fringes, then back to the colors. “Oh, Isna, ’tis beautiful.”
“Here. It is for Emily . . . so she will no longer trip and fall on her water bag.”
She laughed; her eyes brimmed with humble gratitude as she glanced at the dress then stared into his eyes. “ Isna! ’Tis so beautiful! Emily knows not what to say.” She took the top of the dress, held it to her shoulders, looked down at her feet to check the length, tried to swallow but couldn’t. “ Isna, Emily will now cry.” She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes. “Thank you, Isna. ’Tis so beautiful.”
He held her close. “Do not cry. The dress was to make Emily happy . . . Isna’s little white fawn.”
She looked up into his eyes. “She is so happy, Isna, so very happy.”
Emily sat on a stool, nursing Virginia, her doeskin dress untied at the shoulders and laid down to her waist. As Virginia suckled with her usual wolfishness, Emily thought of her special place, savored the day’s joyful moments with Isna: the kicking-ball game, falling on top of him, laughing, embracing, kissing, her beautiful dress, his shield with its depiction of his vision, her dream, their bond . . . their commitment to love one another forever . . . forever. A twinge of sadness tore at her heart as she envisioned Isna kissing her goodbye, walking into the forest to begin the long trek home to his people. She saw herself standing alone like a statue, tears streaming down her face, her heart rending with anguished yearning. I cannot think of this yet. Too happy. Must revel in every moment I have with him, push the inevitable, awful ending to the dark future . . . yes . . . and pray it never comes to be. She saw herself and Isna lying naked together, their bodies as one, moving in a slow rapturous rhythm. The vision abruptly vanished as the words in her mother’s letter appeared in her mind.
. . . your chastity is your most wonderful possession. Nothing in your life is more important. It is the very essence of you, and should be given only to the one you love more than life itself: your husband, none other. I know you understand this . . .
Oh, Mother. What can I do? I love Isna far more than I can ever love any human being. He is my life, my everything . . . but the way for him to become my husband is unclear, indeed unlikely to be found. But this does not diminish my love . . . my passion . . . truthfully, my lust, my sinful lust . . . to be with him, have his child, whether we are ever married or not. Oh, Mother, when he leaves, I shall never see him again, and I must have something to remember him by for the rest of my life . . . I know ’tis shamefully immoral, but I must do this. It must be so; I must let it be so. Forgive me, Mother. Forgive me, Lord, for my sin will be great, and I shall likely never marry . . . but it must be so.
Elyoner slid the hooked end of a metal rod under the handle of an iron pot, removed it from the rocks on which it sat in the heart of the fire. She set it on the ground, removed the lid, sniffed the aroma rising from within, then glanced at Emily with a broad smile. “Can you smell it, Em? Zounds, it smells tasty.”
Emily didn’t reply.
“Em, are you there?”
“Oh . . . no . . . actually, I wasn’t; but Lord in heaven, that smells good. What is it, Ellie?”
Elyoner smiled. “Oysters, mussels, and clams, all in the shell and mixed together with some slices of garlic I carved off one of the cloves from home. The Dares and Colmans shall dine like royalty this night. And by the bye, my dear friend, you seem to be floating around in the air this evening. Is it your love for Isna or the beautiful dress he gave you?”
Emily smiled. “Why both, of course. Oh, Ellie, I so love him . . . so want to spend my life with him, but . . . but I know it can never be . . . for the reasons you and I, and Isna, have discussed. But that doesn’t stop me from loving him with all my heart and soul, for no other has ever warmed my blood as he does. We are meant to be together. Wakan Tanka . . . God has ordained it.” She frowned. “But I know not how it can be.” She looked at Elyoner with forlorn, misty eyes that begged her to find a way.
“Well, my dear friend, what will be will be, and you’ve a long winter ahead to let God work his will. So please don’t cry, Em.” She walke
d to her side, pulled her close, kissed her forehead. “Meanwhile, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful dress. ’Tis completely unlike how Chesapeake women dress, with their aprons, no tops, and capes when the cold comes.” She smiled. “I’ve often thought their naked tops would feel wonderful in the summer heat, imagined myself . . . never mind. So the dress must be like those Isna’s people wear?”
“Aye, but sometimes instead of shells the Lakota use the teeth of an animal that looks like a deer but is much larger and lives on the grasslands: hay-khah-kah.” She looked down at the shoulders of the dress, which lay on her lap. “And those colorful patterns on the shoulders and sleeves are many small, painted quills from a short, four-legged creature about two feet long whose entire body is covered with them. Isna says they’re very sharp and can stick into you, which keeps other animals from attacking them. This four legged is called pah-heen, but I don’t think there are any here. The Lakota fold the ends of the quills under, sew them onto their clothes, and then paint them different colors made from bear grease mixed with berries or roots or finely crumbled, colorful rocks. Aren’t the colors brilliant?”
“Aye, they are. So who made it for Isna, and where did they find the quills?”
“Shines did. He showed her what it should look like and gave her the quills and paint . . . he brought some with him to trade for shells and red rocks, and he gave all that were left to Shines as a gift for making the dress. Did she not do beautiful work . . . especially for her first time?”
“Aye, she did.”
Emily smiled. “She liked it so much she’s making one for herself, to wear in winter.”
“Do you think she’d make one for me? I just love it, Em.”
“I shall ask her. Perchance we could give her some sort of trade goods, like a pot or a knife, in return. I’m giving her my spare eating knife for all her help, and I think I shall give Isna a hatchet and a large knife . . . and some flint and steel. And . . .”
After supper Emily helped Elyoner clear the table and clean the dishes and eating knives. Thomas Colman sucked on a long-stemmed pipe, and between coughs chatted with Ananias Dare about the deterioration of the colony’s discipline since their arrival at Chesapeake. Emily and Elyoner listened silently as they worked.
After a chest-rattling cough, Colman looked at Ananias. “Ananias, do you realize tonight is the first time I’ve been outside my cottage for anything but nature’s necessities in a week?”
“You’ve been missed, Thomas. Good to see you up and about.”
“Well, I thank you and Elyoner for such fine fare. By the bye, has there been any word of James Lassie? My Lord, the man’s been missing for nearly a week. He couldn’t just vanish into the air.”
“That’s what worries us, Thomas. We fear the Savages abducted him— possibly Powhatans.”
“That would be most unfortunate. From what I’ve heard, the Powhatans—”
“Enough, Father! We just ate a fine meal. Let us discuss something else.”
He gave Emily an insulted look, pouted for a moment, puffed on his pipe, then coughed three times. “Very well. Excuse me, Elyoner, Ananias. My fair daughter, who looks more like a Savage than an Englishwoman these days, is quite correct . . . ’twas a poor choice of after-dinner topics, for surely, no good could have befallen the poor man.”
Emily and Elyoner glanced at one another with raised eyebrows.
“I’ve also noticed my dear daughter keeps close company with that Savage Manteo introduced her to at Roanoke. What’s his—”
“And what if I have, Father? What would be the wrong of it?”
Colman coughed again. “No wrong, my dear. ’Tis simply not proper. These people are good, friendly stock, but their ways and beliefs are heathen, uncivilized.”
Elyoner tugged at Emily’s sleeve. “Emily! Shhh!”
“I’ll not!” She slammed a wooden plate on the table, leaned toward her father. “They’re more civilized than you’ll ever understand, Father.”
“Nay, Daughter. We must never forget our roots and values. Else we’ll be absorbed and lose our heritage forever.”
“Fool’s talk!”
Elyoner wrung her hands. “Em. Shhh!”
Colman coughed again. “Well, it won’t be our worry. We’re returning to England when John White returns, and I’ll not have you looking like a Savage when we do.”
Elyoner, still wringing her hands, looked at the ceiling, rolled her eyes, sighed.
“And what if John White doesn’t return, Father? What then?” She paused. “I’ll tell you ‘what then.’ We’ll become one with these people or die. And the sooner you and others realize it, the better.”
“Emily, that’s—”
“We’re a greedy, selfish lot, but these people are in harmony with themselves and the world around them. Yes, some have attacked us, but that’s because they fear us. They also attack each other, but so do we. And I’ll wager we’re the bloodier by far. If we—”
The eerie thunder of drums rose from the Chesapeake village.
“What is that?” Colman asked.
Emily started for the door. “ ’Tis the harvest dance, Father. The Chesapeakes are thanking their gods for the harvest. I’m going.”
“You’re what?”
Emily removed her apron, stepped to the door, opened it. “I’m going to the harvest dance.”
“You’ll do no such thing, young lass! I forbid it!” He snapped the stem of his pipe in two.
“Don’t dictate to me, Father. I’m a grown woman. I shall make my own decisions. Elyoner, Ananias, good night, thank you for dinner.” She slipped out the door and ran into the dark toward the drums.
From beyond the circle of singers and rhythmic, deep-pounding drums, Emily watched nearly naked men and women step and whirl around the roaring, crackling tower of flames, felt the hypnotic pulse of the drums impregnate her, throb within, possess her soul, mesmerize her. Haunting . . . the drums, the chants. She stepped closer.
Oblivious to her surroundings, she eased through the watchers, approached the ring of rapturous dancers. Smoke, sweat, body on fire . . . drums, pounding inside me, dizzy. Shadows and firelight flickered on her face like primeval spirits at the dawn of time. She stared into the fire, let its bewitching spell pull her in, arouse primitive passions hidden beneath thousands of years of rising civilization. The drums . . . throbbing, shaking my soul . . . on fire . . . the fire, go to the fire.
As she stepped toward the flames, Isna touched her arm. She stopped, but the fire held her gaze. He touched her again. She looked at him with glazed eyes that didn’t see.
He took her hands, held them to his lips.
She blinked, blinked again as recognition flashed in her eyes. “Isna.” She leaned her head on his glistening chest. “The fire . . . the drums . . . Emily . . . Emily was in a trance.” She stared into his eyes, touched his brow, drifted her fingers softly down his damp cheek, feathered his chin. “ Isna has been dancing.”
“Yes.” His breath raced as if he’d been chasing a fleeing deer.
“Does Isna thank Wakan Tanka for the harvest?”
“Yes . . . and for his victory against the Powhatans.” He smiled. “But mostly for the little white fawn who forever owns his heart.”
Near midafternoon Emily walked out the palisades gate, saw Hugh Tayler standing at the edge of the forest fifty yards away; she felt the persistent ember of apprehension she’d carried in her stomach all day instantly flame into blatant dread. Don’t want to do this but promised I would. Don’t let it show, Em. But how can I speak of heartfelt things when I’m lost in love with Isna. The thought of Isna momentarily lifted her spirits, brought a thin smile to her face. Perchance I’ll see him tonight or tomorrow. So happy, alive with joy when I’m with him. What will Hugh tell me? No way to know the truth of things . . . yet I know in my heart Johnny Gibbes does not lie. But Hugh . . . how could Hugh—any man—be as immoral and contemptible as Johnny portrayed? How could Hugh present s
uch great lies so convincingly? But does it matter? Do I care? Hugh and I have no future. My future, at least until spring, is with Isna, and that’s as far ahead as I can see now. A warm glow transfused her mind and body; her smile deepened then gradually withered as she approached Tayler. Ready yourself, Emily.
“Good afternoon, Emily. You look lovely, as always.”
“Good afternoon, Hugh. Thank you, but I feel rather disheveled from the day’s toil. ’Twas a step back into summer with that warm sunshine.” Her hair was somewhat unkempt, her sleeves rolled up, and the front of her shirt unbuttoned down to her breasts.
Like Emily, Tayler’s sleeves were rolled up and his shirt unbuttoned. “It matters not, fair lady. You’re always beautiful. Shall we go?” He extended his hand, but she didn’t take it.
“Where are we going, Hugh?”
“Oh, I thought we could walk a slight distance into the forest . . . far enough to be beyond earshot and prying eyes.”
“Are you sure ’tis necessary? In truth, is there that much more to discuss, and can we not talk here at the edge of the forest?”
“Emily, what I must tell you is of such grave importance I dare not risk being overheard.” He took a deep breath, looked into her eyes with a pleading, desperate look. “Please trust me, Emily. We won’t go far.”
She sighed, again wondered what could be so dire. “Very well, Hugh. But I must tell you that while I’m deeply conflicted over what I’ve been told by you and others, I don’t think there is anything you can tell me that will restore our relationship to the course it was on at Roanoke. Truly, my feelings, as well as certain influences in my life, are not what they were back then, and . . . and this is very difficult for me, but what I wish to say is that I believe the relationship that was then maturing between us is no more . . . and ’tis only fair to tell you so.”
He studied her silently for a moment. “Emily, I thank you for your openheartedness, but Hugh Tayler does not give up easily, and I believe that what I will shortly tell you will vindicate my honor and convince you to renew our relationship. So I beg you to please come with me and give me that chance.”
