by S. A. Glenn
Reverend Papanikolaou took his place behind the podium and cleared his throat. “I would like to thank all of you for attending the service today.” He opened his bible to the page marked by a small white lace. “I would like to start with Proverbs: Chapter 31: verses 10-28: ‘Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.
“The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need to spoil.
“She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.’”
Samuel let the words sink into his being, thinking of Katherine and what it would be like for her to be his bride; waking up to her gorgeous face every morning and hearing her soothing voice, smelling her delicate scent of berries.
“‘Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land,’” continued the reverend.
Katherine took Samuel’s hand and winked as he looked upon her with a smile.
“‘Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.’” Reverend Papanikolaou finished the passage.
After the services Katherine steered Samuel over to Reverend Papanikolaou. She stood at Samuel’s side, her hand at his back. The men achieved eye contact. Samuel drew-in the reverend’s outward features, viewed his receding, silvery, wavy hairline, and his forehead with its many creases. His bushy eyebrows and pair of lenses half an inch thick held by a steel frame completed the picture. The reverend projected his humane smile as he placed his hands onto Samuel’s and Katherine’s shoulders.
“My goodness. How you’ve grown, Katherine. Haven’t seen you since you were about six… Very stunning you’ve turned out to be.”
“Thank you, Papa. It is good to see you again. I would like you to meet Samuel Lee, my friend.”
“Good to meet you, Samuel Lee. I hope you found interest and enjoyment in my relations disclosure,” he said as he firmly shook Samuel’s hand. “Where’re you from, son.”
Samuel hesitated, heedful of giving out information.
“North Carolina!” Katherine inserted.
“Oh! What a beauteous place. Been there once, in the spring when the azaleas were in bloom. What parts?”
Samuel couldn’t come up with any partiality, just the truth. “Topsail Island.”
“An island. Nice.”
“Your words, Papa, ’bout a virtuous woman was mighty decent. Never heard stuff like that before, I reckon. Made me feel good inside.”
“Glad to be of service, Samuel.”
“Do you remember, Papa,” laughed Katherine, “when I used to make those mud pies with strawberries on top for you?”
“Yes, my dear,” he snickered. “You believed I really ate them, too, didn’t you?”
“Yes I did, Papa… until I tasted one myself. Then I knew that you could not have eaten them. They were dead awful!” She snorted a laugh.
As Reverend Papanikolaou and Samuel glanced at each other, Katherine laughed at her cute noise.
“Are you here to stay, Katherine?” the reverend asked with seriousness.
“For as long as everyone wants me. Hopefully, I have a job teaching, but I will not know till tomorrow.”
“Of course everyone wants you here, sweetheart. Your cheerful smile lights up the town. We’ve missed you dearly… As for the job… have faith!”
“That was thoughtful. Thank you, Papa. And I will always have faith.”
“Wonderful! I’ve taught you well. As for you Samuel, if there’s anything I can do for you, please, feel free to ask. My doors are always open.”
“Much obliged, Papa.”
The three stood silently, and smiled as they seemed to be content with the start of the morning.
“I hope to see both of you here next week. I’m delivering a sermon about ‘truth’: it’s an eye opener.”
“Would not miss it for the world,” said Katherine.
“Me neither,” replied Samuel. He was curious about the topic, and determined to make it back to church.
“Delightful! Looking forward to seeing you two.”
CHAPTER 10
Monday, when Samuel arrived home from work, he heard repetitive squeaks in Katherine’s room. Peeking around her doorway, he observed her bouncing on her bed, her arms swinging above her head, carefree as an innocent adolescent. He entered and stood next to her bed.
Springing onto the floor, she settled into his arms, giving him an amusing facial expression. “I got it!” she exclaimed.
“Got what?”
“. . . it… the job. I am going to be a teacher!”
“That’s wonderful, Kat!”
“And guess what else?”
“What, Kat, what?”
“I got every question right. Did not miss one of them.”
“I knew you could do it, Kat. You’re smart. The smartest person I know.”
“Thank you. I start Thursday. The children will call me: Ms. Jones, the teacher.”
“Ms. Jones, the teacher.” Samuel stared up into the air, visualizing her hair in a bun, chalk in her hand.
“Let us do something special, Sam… to celebrate.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I was thinking about something out of the ordinary, like: visiting a Gypsy.”
“What’s a Gypsy?”
“They are members of a traditionally traveling people who come originally from India. But these are from Transylvania, Romania. They are mediums and fortune-tellers. A caravan of them is passing through town Friday.”
“Kat, I thought anybody who does that stuff shall surely be put to death, that they’re doin’ the devil’s work!” Samuel recaptured words from the minister he had heard in church when he was a wee lad. “That’s what Reverend Ambos said.”
“I do not think there is any harm in it, Sam. It is just for entertainment. I do not really believe anyone can tell the future. It will be okay.” She took his hand and smiled.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, Kat. I believe you. Let’s do it then. It’s a date!”
Friday after work, Samuel and Katherine left for their reading, taking Sara’s horse and buggy. Just outside of town, on the main road, they found three box-shaped covered wagons decorated with fancy green and purple curtains. Pulling over next to the one with its door open, a man wearing puffy-white pants, a colorful silk shirt, a red bandana, and large silver earrings stepped out, twisting his lengthy black handlebar mustache.
Samuel vaulted off of the carriage, placed his hands around Katherine’s slender waistline, and gently assisted her down to make sure her dress didn’t snag. She straightened out her attire and fixed her hair, then the two of them made their way to the patiently waiting, smiling Gypsy.
“Greetings! What fine couple you kids make,” he said with a robust Slavic accent, assisting Katherine up the steps.
“Hello sir,” said Katherine. She parted the strings of beads hanging over the doorway and entered the darkened premises.
The sign above the door said: FORTUNES—3 CENTS. Samuel gazed up at the sign then made eye contact with the Gypsy, nodded, tipped his hat and followed Katherine inside.
The Gypsy hurried in, slid out a chair for Katherine, and placed a pillow onto the seat. “Please, ma’am, sit.”
“Thank you.” She gave a big grin and scooted closer to the small, round table.
“Please sir, sit here,” the man said, sliding out a second chair.
“Much obliged,” Samuel replied. He gazed at a crystal ball at the center of the table’s blackened top.
“One moment, please. I must set mood.” The Gypsy scurried around to inflame three sconces. He shut the door, darkened the place and joined them. “Sorry to ask, but I need funds, now. I give deal to you: four cents to read couples fortune. Good, yes?�
� He extended his hand.
“Yes sir,” said Samuel. He reached deep into his pocket, pulled out some coins and placed them in his palm. One at a time he counted them out onto the Gypsy’s pleading hand. “One, two, three, four.”
“Thank you, sir.” The Gypsy stashed the money into a small ornamented chest. “Now, we begin. First, my name: Vladimir Asimov.”
“I am Katherine Jones, this is Samuel Lee.”
“Pleased…” The man peered intensely into his magical, crystal instrument. “What wonder is being brought before me? Oh, yes. I see the past. With the two of you. Incredible. You knew each other long ago. A century or more’s time. I see even further back, before you met.”
“How exciting!” Katherine exclaimed.
“Shhh!” the Gypsy hushed her. “I see a man named Nathan Blackmore, an associate of Lord Egremont in London, England. What is this? Let me look deeper. Oh, yes. Nathan Blackmore is you, Samuel Lee! You hold newspaper from London ‘Gazette.’ It is Sunday, June 20th, 1762. Not a cloud in sky. You are on your way home next to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Before reaching destination, you bump into Indian woman while reading. She wears a wraparound skirt made of colorful calico and side seam leggings made of woolen stroud trade cloth, decorated with bright, silk ribbons and beads. Her hair is deep black, worn on her head, but will reach ground—and earrings—silver ones. She is tall, slim, and graceful, having enchanting features. Her complexion is the fairest. This woman is you, Katherine Jones—but past-life name is… hmmm… I see now, two names: Nane:hi and Beloved Woman.”
LONDON ENGLAND
SUNDAY JUNE 20
1762
“Great Scot! Please allow me to help you up, my good woman!” exclaimed Nathan Blackmore, coming to an abrupt halt. He offered his hand as he placed his newspaper under his arm.
“Thank you, sir. I am very sorry,” she declared, sitting on her rump. She raised her head to see a worldly-looking man wearing black shoes with golden buckles, white cotton socks up to his knees. He had dark blue pants with a long, blue coat opened in the front with yellow contours, exhibiting a showy silk shirt, wearing a black three-pointed hat with white trim, and having dark blue eyes. She extended her arm, gave the handsome man her hand, and bowed her head in submission.
“Please, my pretty lady,” he begged, bringing her to her feet, kissing her knuckles. “It was entirely my fault! I was not watching where I was going. Are you well? Is anything hurting you due to my clumsiness?”
“No sir, I am well. I just left St. Paul’s Cathedral. I was admiring the golden gallery, but now I am on my way home on Suffolk Street.”
“But of course . . . you stay at the Quin home. It is quite a walk from here. Please, allow me to accompany you on your journey. It’s the least I can do.”
“How do you know where I reside?”
“I apologize for being so forward, but I know a great deal about your people. I am Nathan Blackmore, the royal messenger assigned to the Cherokee.”
“Pleased to meet you, Nathan Blackmore.” She smiled as she bowed with courtesy. “I am Nane:hi, offspring of Outacite.”
“The Chief of your people. The honor is mine, Nane:hi. I spoke to your father briefly once. I did not know he had such a beautiful daughter.” With a polite request, he displayed his arm. “Allow me to escort you home, Nane:hi, while the streets are still safe. Would not want your father thinking I held you out late.”
“Thank you, Nathan. You are very kind.”
They began the trek in silence.
Nathan broke the calm. “If you do not mind me asking, where did you get your ravishing light blue eyes?” He peered into them. “I have never seen a person of Indian descent with them.”
“Thank you for your friendliness. My mother is Scottish. I got them from her.”
“Your English is remarkable, Nane:hi.”
“I was born in America where my parents live. I spend most of my time with Mother, and she schooled me while Father commanded the tribe. Only a few of my friends are Cherokee, so I do not spend much time with any tribesman.”
“One would not think that by your perfectly authentic clothing.”
“I wear this raiment to honor my Father.”
“I have the utmost respect for him,” said Nathan. “I have heard many tales of his achievements. I would not expect you to do anything other than that to give him your complete admiration.”
“I shant have it any other way. Nor will he. The men in my life always receive devotion to the end, as did my husband.”
Nathan stopped, turned to Nane:hi with concern upon his cordial face. “As did your husband? May I ask what happened?”
“During the battle of Taliwa,” she explained, a deep sadness in her eyes as she clenched his hand, “I was loading his rifles when he was mortally injured.”
“I am very sorry. How long ago?” He squeezed her hand.
“Seven years . . .”
“You are a brave soul, Nane:hi.”
“I did what I had to. I received the title: Beloved Woman.”
Nathan breathed deep, smiled, and nodded. “Come on, you are nearly home.”
At the Quin home, Nathan took-in the majestic building with its iron fence, sturdy pillars, multiple windows and four floors. He walked her to the doorway with its three arches overhead.
“Thank you for chaperoning me, Nathan.”
“My pleasure, Nane:hi. Have a delightful evening.” He slowly released her hand.
They gazed into each other’s eyes.
Nane:hi ached for a companion to share her time with, and she felt Nathan could be that person, but believed it would not be proper for her to ask him out. She waited for him to take that liberty.
Nathan craved company as well. He had not had much fortune with any ladies thus far. But Nane:hi was unique, and she infatuated him with her charm and bold past; her uncanny devotion put her into a league of her own. He desired to know her better, but he could not decipher whether or not she liked him—then he decided to hell with it and broke the silence with his daring question. “I am wondering, Nane:hi—”
“Yes,” she batted her eyelids.
“Would you care to accompany me at Sadler’s Wells tomor—?”
“I would LOVE to, Nathan!” she said, interrupting him with a big smile. “The entertainment there, from what I hear, conforms closely to our own notions of diversion,” she explained, speaking faster than her thoughts could form.
“Marvelous! I will pick you up at six-thirty p.m., sharp.”
“I will be ready.” She lifted to her tiptoes then dropped back down in excitement.
The next day as Nathan pulled up to the Quin house in a light horse-drawn carriage, Nane:hi was waiting on the sidewalk. He climbed down from the buggy, led his anxious date over to it, and boosted her up onto the cushioned leather seat. As he sat himself down next to her, they turned to one another.
“What a glorious evening,” he said.
“It is quite lovely,” she replied.
“Here, my lady, a seasonal flower for you to intensify its beauty.”
She took the moderate purplish-red fragrant rose from him, placed it under her nose, and drew in its enticing scent. “Once again, you are too kind.”
“I only speak the truth. I would never lie to you.”
“Nor will I to you. How handsome you look.”
They smiled at each other and softly laughed as Nathan took the reins and led them away.
A short time later they arrived at their destination. Nathan scurried off of the buggy and assisted Nane:hi down. They made their way along a gravel path past a petite pond harboring two sensual swans. A gentleman with a cane passed by them, smiled, and nodded as they walked through a wooden gate. Upon coming to a hefty solid gateway, Nane:hi and Nathan were greeted by two s
entries.
“Welcome folks to Sadler’s Wells,” one of them said, his hand displaying the sign behind him. “Tonight’s theatrics is entitled: Nettecawaw. It is a foolery pantomime about Englishmen who attempt to amuse themselves with the Cherokee game, but they discover how difficult it is.”
“Nettecawaw!” exclaimed Nane:hi, taking hold of Nathan’s foreman. “I have played this game. Each player has a ten foot pole with many marks on it. One player bowls a round rock with one even surface and the other curved, on which the players all dart their poles after it and the closest counts according to the proximity of the bowl to the marks on his pole. It is NOT an easy task. This will be hilarious!”
“Enjoy the show,” said the other sentry, opening the gate.
Nane:hi and Nathan walked ten yards or so, entered the two story building, her arm through his. They took their seats in the first row. Nane:hi waved to a few Cherokee women whom she knew in the audience. Then the dramedy began and all was quiet as the curtain drew open.
After an hour of shenanigans, a thunderous applause erupted, everyone stood. Nane:hi took hold of Nathan, hurrying him over to one of her female acquaintances, talking to her in Cherokee.
“Nathan Blackmore,” Nane:hi said, “this is Kwantikiski—the peach eater.”
“Ma’am,” he said.
“Plazed mechu,” she replied in a heavy accent, her English, poor.
Nane:hi had found out from her comrade that there was going to be religious ceremony called: the green corn dance; but that this one was only for fun. It is an attempt to bring the two cultures together through sharing experiences. “Nathan if you are not busy this Saturday, would you allow me to share one of our religious dances with you? It is usually held in August, the night of the full harvest moon nearest the time when the corn is ripe, but it is to be performed early to give understanding of our ways. Anyone can be a member in the dance. Will you join me in it?”
“Of course . . . I would not miss it for the world,” he smiled as he squeezed her hand.
