SelfSame

by Conway, Melissa

  Her mother’s head tilted to one side as she regarded her. “You said you still sleep until you wake. The Mahican medicine man told me your spirit was split in two, and when you were a child you talked of nothing else. What was her name? Your future self?”

  Enid thought then not of Sorcha, but of her own future self. She could see her life as if it were laid out on a path before her. The Haudenosaunee medicine man would use Sorcha’s knowledge of history to predict things that would give him advantages unavailable to other leaders. If Enid cooperated, she could rule by his side. If she did not, he would get the information out of her one way or another. It was a scenario that she had long dreaded and one that she had vowed would never occur. She was worth more than the future half of her soul.

  “I do not remember,” she lied. “Elizabeth told me the medicine man’s story, but I have long since stopped pretending I had another life.”

  Bluebird’s eyes widened and for the first time, Enid saw anger in her face. She’d been all gentleness and persuasion, but Enid had heard her screeching at Black Wolf and knew she was capable of more.

  “Pretending? I hardly think so. The things you told me even as a child were quite astonishing. Surely you realize how such a gift could benefit you?”

  Enid knew she had to tread very carefully here. Not only must she convince Bluebird she had no such gift, but she must do so in a way that wouldn’t further anger her. Bluebird had obviously hung big hopes on Enid. The knowledge that she had an ulterior interest in her was a crushing blow, because Enid had fallen for her kindness. It would be a miracle if she managed to deflect this woman – this stranger’s – fury.

  “It would indeed be a great boon if I had ever had such a gift. However, I assure you, Mother, I was never in possession of a second soul. From what Elizabeth tells me, I was merely an imaginative child.”

  Bluebird’s lips thinned to a severe line. “Then why do you not wake?”

  “The village doctor says my brain was injured when I was born. He has seen many such injuries when a babe does not breathe soon enough. Most are bereft of intelligence; I was lucky to only have problems waking.” No village doctor had ever examined her, but her mother did not know that.

  Bluebird pressed a hand to her chest, her face the picture of appalled betrayal. “This is grave news indeed. Walks Like a Moose cannot present you to the Haudenosaunee medicine man if you have nothing to offer him. I must stop him, and quickly.”

  Enid’s mouth fell open as Bluebird jumped to her feet and rushed out of the longhouse. She felt as if her body had transformed into a leaf that was caught up in a capricious wind.

  With no instructions on what to do, she combed and replaited her hair and tidied her sleeping furs. There was nothing readily available for her to eat, but she was accustomed to that. She needed to relieve herself however, and was glad when Spotted Fawn arrived. She didn’t know how else to tell her half-sister what she needed, so she bent her knees and made a “Pssss,” sound, which made Spotted Fawn giggle.

  Outside, about half an inch of snow covered everything, and more was gently falling. Footprints were everywhere, but the people who’d been out and about yesterday were scarce, and those she saw were bundled up in their winter robes.

  Enid was unsure how much, if anything, Bluebird had told her youngest daughter. She watched closely for any difference in Spotted Fawn’s demeanor. The girl showed no obvious change in her manner and for that Enid was thankful, although she suspected it probably wouldn’t last. She accompanied her half-sister outside the wooden palisade that surrounded the village and along a well-worn trail some ways into the woods, until the stench told her the latrine was near. It was a huge European-style trench dug downwind of the settlement and nowhere near the water supply.

  Enid wasn’t sure how to go about the business she had there, and mimed as much to Spotted Fawn. The girl gave her a funny look, but supplied her with dried corn leaves and demonstrated how Enid should use the crude facilities. There was nothing dignified about it, but at least there was no one else about, and Spotted Fawn walked far enough away to give her a measure of privacy.

  When she was finished, she washed her hands with snow and headed towards Spotted Fawn, but something caught her eye. At the edge of a dense stand of low-growing hemlock trees behind the latrine, a man stepped into view. Enid’s heart skipped a beat or two when she saw him. He was facing away from the latrine, but could easily have seen her doing her business. She hurried on, hoping he was just politely waiting his turn, but something made her look back.

  The man was dressed the same as all the other warriors. His hair was like Joseph’s, except the shaved part had grown out into stubble that was as dark as Sorcha’s dad’s five o’clock shadow when he had a few days off from work. The man turned enough to show her his face and she gasped as he melted back into the shadows.

  It was Joseph.

  Enid caught up to Spotted Fawn. She bent and with her finger drew the shape of a mushroom in a clean patch of snow, then pointed to her eye to indicate she’d seen some. Then she drew the shape of a basket and made a cupping motion over the mushroom and back to the basket. She pointed at Spotted Fawn and then in the direction of the longhouse. Spotted Fawn lifted the front of her robes to indicate they could carry the mushrooms that way. Enid frowned and brushed a hand fastidiously down the front of the winter robe her mother had leant her. Spotted Fawn shrugged and made a face that clearly said, “Whatever,” and ran off. As soon as she was out of sight, Enid sprinted to the trees.

  “Joseph!” she whispered. He’d moved from last location she’d seen him, but she knew he had to be near. There were no revealing footprints in the snow; he’d taken care to disguise them. “Come out!”

  Sugar maples dominated this section of the forest, an area that probably got a lot of traffic during the spring when the tribe tapped the trees for syrup. The maples were bare now, but in summer they would block the sun, allowing the hemlock growing beneath them to get little sunshine. This particular stand of hemlock might be stunted, but it was a hardy evergreen species that formed a thicket large enough to provide shelter for any local animals brazen enough to live so near the human settlement. A hand brushed aside a branch and gestured her over. She hiked up the buckskin dress and dropped to her knees, crawling underneath and through the shrubs. Joseph pulled her inside, where the branches had been thinned to make a cozy space, with the flat, rounded hemlock needles layered thickly on the ground. Without thinking, she went directly into his arms, hugging him and exclaiming softly, “I’m so glad you’re alive!”

  He hesitated before returning the hug. She felt his chin brushing the top of her head and the warmth of his breath in her hair. In fact, his body radiated warmth, more so even than when he’d held her in the field. She pulled away, instinctively knowing something was wrong.

  Both of his eyes were purple from the beating the Mohawk had given him. Again, it reminded her of Ben, but there was something else, a swollenness to Joseph’s cheeks and under his chin that made her think of the mumps.

  “Are you well?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer; just shook his head slowly, his eyes conveying deep sadness.

  “Is it Bear Talker? Did they burn his longhouse? Was that the fire I saw?”

  He still said nothing and after a moment it occurred to her, horribly, why.

  “Open your mouth,” she said.

  He shook his head and pulled back.

  “Oh, my God.” She put her cold hands to his hot face. His hands rose and covered hers, holding them in place against his cheeks.

  “Joseph,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. “Let me see it.”

  He tried to shake his head again, but she insisted, “You need medicine. Open.”

  It was dark under the branches except for the small amount of filtered light coming in through the needles. Joseph tried to open his mouth, but the swelling prevented his jaw from dropping very far. She saw enough, though. The base of what was left
of his tongue was so purple it appeared black. Someone, maybe even Joseph himself, had crudely stitched the wound closed, although if he’d done it, she couldn’t imagine how he’d managed. His breath was foul, but not overly so. She hoped that meant there was no infection.

  From outside, she heard Spotted Fawn calling, “Ee-nid!”

  She dropped her head in her shaking hands for a moment to get a grip on the tumult of her emotions. She didn’t have time to indulge them other than to acknowledge a bottomless hatred for the men who did this to him.

  “I have to go or they will come looking. Do you need food?”

  He didn’t shake his head yes or no, but she answered her own question. “Of course you do, you’re feverish and you can’t chew anything hard. I’ll bring you something as soon as I can get away again. Oh, Joseph…”

  Spotted fawn’s voice sounded closer, “Ee-nid!”

  Enid took his face in her hands again and very gently kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be back.”

  She poked her head out. There was no sign of Spotted Fawn, so she scrambled out of Joseph’s hiding place. It was a great spot to conceal oneself so close to the settlement, since the putrid odor of the open latrine trench would keep people from lingering in the area.

  Enid saw Spotted Fawn’s back not far from the trees and scooted around to come at her from an angle that wouldn’t give Joseph’s location away.

  “Hello,” Enid said. The girl turned with a relieved expression. Enid walked with her to the picture of the mushroom she’d drawn in the snow, which was almost obliterated by the new flakes that had fallen in the intervening time. She pointed to the mushroom and then put her hands to her throat and stuck her tongue out. Spotted Fawn laughed, understanding her meaning that the mushrooms she’d supposedly found were not edible. As they walked back to the longhouse, Enid hoped Joseph hadn’t seen her little pantomime and misinterpreted it.

  Inside, there was no sign of Bluebird. Spotted Fawn sat on her furs and got to work on sewing something. Enid knew that under normal circumstances, everyone was expected to make themselves useful to the community for a large portion of the day. The women did the farming and household tasks while the men went out to hunt and fish. Bluebird hadn’t given her a list of chores yet, so she casually snooped around. Most of the foodstuffs were kept in a central location and shared communally. Like the siding of the longhouse, the containers were made of bark and most of them held the corn and beans the women had grown and dried. Along with stone knives, clay pots, wooden bowls and cups, Bluebird had smaller wooden containers with bark lids that held dried berries and nuts. Enid snuck a handful of each into her pocket, which she’d tied around her waist under the borrowed dress. She found nothing at all that could be used as medicine for Joseph’s severed tongue. The medicine man was probably in charge of the stores of healing herbs. Him, she wasn’t about to go see.

  There’d been a stand of black willow trees growing by the river, though. The small knife she’d taken from her father’s house was still in her pocket. She grabbed up one of her mother’s clay pots and mimed to Spotted Fawn that she was going to get some water. She anticipated Spotted Fawn would protest that there was plenty of water in the longhouse, so she quickly hurried away. The snow had stopped falling, but it was cold. In this world, it was often difficult to judge time, especially when the sun was hidden. Enid estimated her mother had been gone for over an hour, however, and she worried she’d run into her.

  Her luck held out. Three older women were casting woven hemp nets out into the river, but they were concentrating and didn’t pay her any attention. She found a young black willow tree that hadn’t been stripped of its bark. Quite a bit of moss stained its trunk and limbs, but she found a clear patch of the driest bark she could and hacked away at it with her knife. Sorcha’s research into herbal remedies for Elizabeth taught her that willow tree bark was an excellent source of salicin, the natural form of aspirin. She filled the pot with water at the river, grabbed up several good-sized rounded stones from the river bed and went straight back to the longhouse.

  Spotted Fawn was no longer alone. Another girl had joined her and they were chattering away in their language as Enid built up the nearest fire, set the rocks in the middle of the blaze and rested the pot near the edge. She cut the bark up into smaller pieces and put it in the water. Once the rocks were hot enough, she scooped them out of the fire with a wooden spoon and deposited them into the pot. The tea would have to steep for a while. To keep busy until it was done, she offered to help Spotted Fawn with her sewing. The girls were interested in Enid’s clothes and asked, through pantomime, if it was okay to try them on.

  Enid was embarrassed that the clothes were so filthy, but the girls didn’t seem to mind. They were at that age where play was being phased out for the responsibilities of womanhood. It happened so much sooner in Enid’s world than Sorcha’s. Trying on the clothes was both play and an exploration of their budding maturity. Enid hoped they grew tired of it soon, because she planned to tear her skirt into a blanket for Joseph.

  She was anxious to get back to him. Anxious to make sure he hadn’t been discovered, and especially anxious to ease his pain. She wished more than anything that she could sneak out at night and stay with him, but as soon as she fell asleep she’d be a dead weight, a dangerous burden. Just like she’d been when the Mohawk caught him in the first place.

  In her determination to keep her two lives separate, Enid had become adept at distracting herself from unpleasant truths, especially those that underscored the yawning chasm between Sorcha’s world and this one. Nothing thus far in Enid’s life had more brutally highlighted that disparity than knowing Joseph had had his tongue cut out because he’d helped her. Perhaps, more than just a punishment, it had been a symbolic warning for him not to say anything about her kidnapping. The Mohawk warriors would want to avoid retribution from the townsfolk – not that Enid thought for a moment it would be forthcoming. Her father would not bother to look for her. Jedediah would seek someone else to fill his dead wife’s place.

  Another girl, older than Spotted Fawn and her friend, came over and said something. Her tone indicated she was bossing the younger girls around, and sure enough, they got up and reluctantly followed the newcomer to a different area of the longhouse. It was the break Enid was hoping for. She immediately got her knife out and went to work cutting the stitching holding her skirt to the bodice of her dress. She also cut a smaller bit out of the bodice, into which she put the handful of nuts and berries and a leaf-wrapped bit of soft fish left over from last night’s meal.

  She worked quickly, conscious that her mother would surely return soon. When she’d gathered everything together, she left the longhouse again, fully expecting to be stopped and questioned. All the way to the latrine trench her heart beat double-time. Just in case she was being watched, she skirted around the trench to the left and walked in a meandering circle, pausing now and then to pretend she was harvesting berries. Finally she made it to the trees and Joseph’s sheltering thicket.

  He was asleep when she crawled in. She set the pot of tea aside and unfolded the blanket she’d made from her skirt. When she laid it over him, he woke with a start and his hand shot out to grasp her wrist.

  “It’s me,” she whispered.

  For a moment, his fevered eyes had no recognition in them. Then his eyelids drooped and he released her arm, subsiding back onto his bed of leaves.

  “You need to sit up. I brought you some willow bark tea.”

  He struggled back up and tried to hold the pot, but his hands were shaking. She put her hands over his and steadied them, looking into his eyes the entire time. “Take a sip and hold it in your mouth for as long as you can. It will ease the pain and is an antiseptic.”

  He wouldn’t know what an antiseptic was, so she clarified, “Remember when I told your uncle about tiny creatures that make us sick? This will help keep them away.”

  Joseph obediently drank from the pot, even thou
gh he struggled to swallow past the swelling and his efforts obviously caused him severe pain.

  “I brought you some food. I know it will be hard to eat, but you must try or you will become weaker. Will you promise to try?”

  He closed his eyes and nodded once.

  “I cannot stay. If I am missed, they will look for me. I do not know when I will come again. Keep the tea from freezing if you can. Drink three mouthfuls in the morning, midday and after the sun sets. No more or it will hurt here.”

  She pressed a hand to his midsection. In the back of her mind, she wondered at her own temerity. She couldn’t seem to keep from touching him. Was it gratitude for his sacrifice, sympathy for his agony or something more?

  After sticking her head out to make sure no one was there, she made a move to leave, but he stopped her. She turned back and found him staring into her face as if he wanted to memorize it. His expression was a mixture of shame and longing. Shame, she assumed, because he was a strong warrior who’d been brought low – he didn’t want her to see him this way, didn’t want to be reliant upon her. And longing, well, instinctively she knew what he wanted. She raised a finger and brushed at a spot of dried blood on his lip, then used the same finger to tenderly smooth out one of his eyebrows. He looked like hell, but all she wanted was to throw herself into his arms.

  He was gravely injured, though, and could endure only the mildest of contact. She leaned forward and ever-so-softly rested her cheek against his. “Thank you for trying to protect me,” she whispered in his ear.

  It was the wrong thing to say. He pulled back, looking hurt and affronted, but she said quickly, “No, Joseph, it is more than gratitude that I feel. Don’t think that it is not.”

  Even as she said the words, she realized they were true. His eyes dropped to her mouth and he made a small sound in his throat. Her eyes closed briefly and when they opened, his face was very close, his breath tickling her lips. He rested his forehead against hers and they stayed that way for a minute or more. She couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her cheeks, one after the other.